
Class 
Book. 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSm 



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READINGS IN LITERATURE 



FOR UPPER GRADES 



SELECTED AND EDITED BY 

T. ADRIAN CURTIS 

Principal in the Public Schools, New York City 



NEW YORK 

CHARLES E. MERRILL COMPANY 

1915 






Copyright, 1915, by 

CHARLES E. MERRILL COMPANY 

(1) 



^ "■ io 



APR -6 1915 

©CI.A;i98239 



PREFACE 

Because of the importance of the subject of Reading in 
Elementary School curricula, much thought and attention 
have been given by prominent educators to devising methods 
whereby the beginner may be taught to master the printed 
page. The various methods invented and put into opera- 
tion have resulted in rapid progress in the scientific manner of 
presenting and developing the beginnings of this art. In the 
lower grades, the advance that has been made in the teaching 
of reading is satisfactory from every standpoint. While the 
mechanical side of the art has been provided for, the content 
side has not been neglected. 

Unfortunately we cannot view with the same complacence 
the conditions that exist in connection with reading in the 
upper grades. There we are confronted with the two-fold 
problem, first, of continuing the process of aiding the pupils 
in the matter of oral expression, and second, of leading them 
to a real appreciation of the masterpieces of literature. No 
matter how excellent may be the results obtained in the 
mechanics of reading, unless the pupils are inspired with a 
love for good books, we have failed to accomplish the most 
important aim of the course. This double problem makes it 
necessary to select the reading matter for the upper grades 
with the greatest care. If one or two long selections are 
studied intensively during a term, the pupils are not brought 
in touch with the variety of topics and styles that is essential 



iv Preface 

to the awakening of a broad, lively, permanent interest in 
books. On the other hand, if the ordinary class reader with 
a great number of short selections is used, the results are not 
satisfactory because the incomplete selections do not make 
the required appeal to pupils, nor do they, as a rule, lend 
themselves to the analytical study that is necessary to an 
intelligent appreciation of the classics. 

This book has been planned to act as a kind of connecting 
link between the class reader and the long masterpiece. In 
choosing the material for it, the following things have been 
kept in mind : first, that a variety of topics must be presented ; 
second, that the material must be interesting in itself; third, 
that the material must present no abnormal difficulty in the 
correct oral rendering of it; fourth, that the selections must 
be such that the teacher will find it profitable to let the pupils 
see something of the workmanship required in producing a 
masterpiece of literature. Seven of the prose selections are 
given in their entirety; two are extracts from longer stories. 
The complete pieces lend themselves to an analytical study 
that should be beneficial to the pupils in their composition 
work. The treatment outlined under the ''Notes and Sug- 
gestions" at the end of each selection has been worked out 
with the double purpose in view, first, of training the pupils 
in placing an intelligent valuation on the work of the masters, 
and second, of showing them the importance of the mechanical 
side of the art of expression. Not all of the allusions have 
been explained in the notes. Where a knowledge of the mean- 
ing of the allusion is essential to an understanding of the 
passage, an explanatory note is given at the end. In regard to 
all other allusions, historical references and the like, it is 



Preface v 

advisable to have the pupils feel the necessity for looking 
them up in appropriate books of reference. Training in the 
use of reference books is a valuable asset for the pupils. 

The selections in this book may well be made the basis 
for further work with library books. The more closely the 
reading of library books is supervised by the teacher, the 
better are the results obtained from such reading. If the 
pupils have read in class the extract from Owen Johnson's 
school story, then suggest the reading at home of such books 
as '^ Stalky and Co. " or ''Tom Brown"; and require a report 
on their home reading. Let them know what to look for and 
that you expect a definite response from them and you will 
increase wonderfully the interest in this important part of 
the work. Suggestions as to supplementary home reading 
will also be found at the end of each selection. They are 
suggestions only. The enthusiastic teacher will change and 
add to this list according to his or her taste in reading and 
will thus give to the work the individualism which is so neces- 
sary to its success. 

In attempting to create a taste for literature, the engender- 
ing and nurturing of a love for poetry is an essential part of 
the work. To be successful in this regard, considerable skill 
and enthusiasm are required on the part of the teacher. We 
cannot expect children of elementary school age to be able, 
unaided, to appreciate the beauties of lyric poetry. If, how- 
ever, they are placed in the correct emotional attitude by the 
methods employed, it is possible to inspire them with a lasting 
love for poetry. Where the lyrics are narrative in form, the 
problem of arousing interest is not so difficult, for the story 
told makes the selection easier for them to understand. 



vi Preface 

Where the poem is purely lyrical, the teacher must be sure 
that the children see and understand the implied meanings 
as well as those expressed. It is important for the teacher to 
bring to the attention of the pupils, those facts in the life of 
the poet that may aid them in their interpretation of the 
poem. It is advisable to have at least a part of the memory 
work for the grade taken from the poems given here. Of 
course, the process of memorizing must not begin until the 
poem has been studied, understood and appreciated. 

Grateful acknowledgement for permission to use copy- 
righted material is hereby made to the following publishers: 
Charles Scribner's Sons for ''San Francisco, — A Modern 
Cosmopolis " by Robert Louis Stevenson; Doubleday, Page 
and Co. for "Art and the Bronco" by 0. Henry and for 
the selection from ''The Varmint" by Owen Johnson. 

T. A. C. 



TABLE OF CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Preface iii 

PROSE SELECTIONS: 

The Legend of Sleepy HoijIjOW.. .Washington Irving 1 

The Purloined Letter Edgar Allan Poe 39 

David Swan Nathaniel Hawthorne. . . 62 

A Dissertation on Roast Pig Charles Lamb 70 

San Francisco Robert Louis Stevenson. 80 

The Tournament at Ashby, from 

Ivanhoe Sir Walter Scott 92 

Art and The Bronco 0. Henry 108 

The Football Game, from The Var- 
mint Owen Johnson 125 

Wee Willie Winkie Rudyard Kipling 144 

Introduction to the Poetical Selections 160 

POETICAL SELECTIONS: 

To a Skylark Percy Bysshe Shelley. . . 161 

Ode to a Nightingale John Keats 165 

To A Mountain Daisy Robert Burns 169 

The Daffodils William Wordsworth . . . 172 

To Daffodils Robert Herrick 173 

Break, Break, Break Alfred Tennyson 174 

Crossing the Bar Alfred Tennyson 176 

Boat Song Sir Walter Scott 177 

Coronach Sir Walter Scott 179 

How They Brought the Good 

News from Ghent to Aix Robert Browning 180 

An Incident of the French Camp . . Robert Browning 183 

The Sonnets: 

Sonnet William Shakespeare. . . 186 

On His Blindness John Milton 186 

England and Switzerland, 1802 . . William Wordsworth . . . 187 

The World is Too Much With JJs>. William Wordsworth. . . 188 
Composed upon Westminster 

Bridge William Wordsworth . . . 189 

On the Castle of Chillon Lord Byron 190 

Patriotic Hymns: 

Concord Hymn Ralph Waldo Emerson . 191 

Recessional Rudyard Kipling 192 



READINGS IN LITERATURE 

THE LEGEND OF SLEEPY HOLLOW 

(Found among the papers of the late Diedrich Knickerbocker) 

BY WASHINGTON IRVING 

Washington Irving was born in New York in 1783 and died 
in Tarry town in 1859. He was one of the earliest of our American 
writers. His fame is based on his historical works and his short 
sketches. A great many years of his life were spent abroad in 
travel and in the diplomatic service of the United States. His 
writings are characterized by a graceful, engaging style and a 
genial, kindly humor. Irving was the first of our writers to use 
the short story as a distinct hterary form. 

The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is one of the stories in " The Sketch 
Book," which was published in 1818. 

In the bosom of one of those spacious coves which 
indent the eastern shore of the Hudson, at that broad 
expansion of the river denominated by the ancient Dutch 
navigators the Tappan Zee, and where they always pru- 
5 dently shortened sail, and implored the protection of St. 
Nicholas when they crossed, there lies a small market 
town or rural port, which by some is called Greensburgh, 
but which is more generally and properly known by the 
name of Tarry Town. This name was given it, we are 

10 told, in former days, by the good housewives of the ad- 
jacent country, from the inveterate propensity of their 
husbands to linger about the village tavern on market 
days. Be that as it may, I do not vouch for the fact, 
but merely advert to it, for the sake of being precise and 

15 authentic. Not far from this village, perhaps about 



2 Readings in Literature 

two miles, there is a little valley, or rather lap of land 
among high hills, which is one of the quietest places in 
the whole world. A small brook glides through it, with 
just murmur enough to lull one to repose; and the occa- 
5 sional whistle of a quail, or tapping of a woodpecker, is 
almost the only sound that ever breaks in upon the uni- 
form tranquility. 

I recollect that, when a stripling, my first exploit in 
squirrel-shooting was in a grove of tall walnut-trees that 

10 shades one side of the valley. I had wandered into it at 
noon time when all nature is peculiarly quiet, and was 
startled by the roar of my own gun, as it broke the Sab- 
bath stillness around, and was prolonged and reverber- 
ated by the angry echoes. If ever I should wish for a 

15 retreat whither I might steal from the world and its dis- 
tractions, and dream quietly away the remnant of a 
troubled life, I know of none more promising than this 
little valley. 

From the Hstless repose of the place, and the peculiar 

20 character of its inhabitants, who are descendants from 
the original Dutch settlers, this sequestered glen has long 
been known by the name of Sleepy Hollow, and its rustic 
lads are called the Sleepy Hollow boys throughout all the 
neighboring country. A drowsy, dreamy influence seems 

25 to hang over the land, and to pervade the very atmos- 
phere. Some say that the place was bewitched by a 
high German doctor, during the early days of the settle- 
ment; others, that an old Indian chief, the prophet or 
wizard of his tribe, held his powwows there before the 

30 country was discovered by Master Hendrick Hudson. 
Certain it is, the place still continues under the sway 
of some witching power, that holds a spell over the minds 
of the good people, causing them to walk in a continual 
reverie. They are given to all kinds of marvelous beliefs; 

35 are subject to trances and visions; and frequently see 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 3 

strange sights, and hear music and voices in the air. 
The whole neighborhood abounds with local tales, 
haunted spots, and twilight superstitions; stars shoot 
and meteors glare oftener across the valley than in any 
5 other part of the country, and the nightmare, with her 
whole ninefold, seems to make it the favorite scene of her 
gambols. 

The dominant spirit, however, that haunts this en- 
chanted region, and seems to be commander-in-chief of 

10 all the powers of the air, is the apparition of a figure on 
horseback without a head. It is said by some to be the 
ghost of a Hessian trooper, whose head had been carried 
away by a cannon ball, in some nameless battle during 
the Revolutionary War; and who is ever and anon seen 

15 by the country folk, hurrying along in the gloom of 
night, as if on the wings of the wind. His haunts are not 
confined to the valley, but extend at times to the adjacent 
roads, and especially to the vicinity of a church at no 
great distance. Indeed, certain of the most authen- 

20 tic historians of those parts, who have been careful in 
collecting and collating the floating facts concerning this 
specter, allege that the body of the 'trooper having been 
buried in the churchyard, the ghost rides forth to the 
scene of battle in nightly quest of his head; and that the 

25 rushing speed with which he sometimes passes along the 
Hollow, like a midnight blast, is owing to his being be- 
lated, and in a hurry to get back to the churchyard before 
daybreak. 

Such is the general purport of this legendary super- 

30 stition, which has furnished materials for many a wild 
story in that region of shadows; and the specter is known 
at all the country firesides, by the name of The Headless 
Horseman of Sleepy Hollow. 

It is remarkable, that the visionary propensity I have 

35 mentioned is not confined to the native inhabitants of 



4 Readings in Literature 

the valley, but it is unconsciously imbibed by everyone 
who resides there for a time. However wide awake they 
may have been before they entered that sleepy region, 
they are sure, in a little time, to inhale the witching 
5 influence of the air, and begin to grow imaginative — to 
dream dreams and see apparitions. 

I mention this peaceful spot with all possible laad, 
for it is in such little retired Dutch valleys, found here 
and there enbosomed in the great state of New York, 

10 that population, manners, and customs, remain fixed; 
while the great torrent of migration and improvement, 
which is making such incessant changes in other parts of 
this restless country, sweeps by them unobserved. They 
are like those little nooks of still water, which border a 

15 rapid stream; where we may see the straw and bubble 
riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their 
mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing 
current. Though many years have elapsed since I trod 
the drowsy shades of Sleepy Hollow, yet I question 

20 whether I should not still find the same trees and the 
same families vegetating in its sheltered bosom. 

In this byplace of nature, there abode, in a remote 
period of American history, that is to say, some thirty 
years since, a worthy wight of the name of Ichabod 

25 Crane, who sojourned, or, as he expressed it, 'Harried," in 
Sleepy Hollow, for the purpose of instructing the children 
of the vicinity. He was a native of Connecticut; a state 
which supplies the Union with pioneers for the mind as 
well as for the forest, and sends forth yearly its legions 

30 of frontier woodsmen and country schoolmasters. The 
cognomen of Crane was not inapphcable to his person. 
He was tall but exceedingly lank, with narrow shoulders, 
long arms and legs, hands that dangled a mile out of his 
sleeves, feet that might have served for shovels and his 

35 whole frame most loosely hung together. His head was 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 5 

small, and flat at top, with huge ears, large green glassy 
eyes, and a long snipe nose, so that it looked like a weather- 
cock, perched upon a spindle neck, to tell which way the 
wind blew. To see him striding along the profile of a 
5 hill on a windy day, with his clothes bagging and flutter- 
ing about him, one might have mistaken him for the 
genius of famine descending upon the earth, or some 
scarecrow eloped from a cornfield. 

His schoolhouse was a low building of one large room, 

10 rudely constructed of logs; the windows partly glazed, 
and partly patched with leaves of old copybooks. It was 
most ingeniously secured at vacant hours by a withe 
twisted in the handle of the door, and stakes set against 
the window shutters; so that though a thief might get in 

15 with perfect ease, he would find some embarrassment in 
getting out; an idea most probably borrowed by the 
architect, Yost Van Houten, from the mystery of an eel- 
pot. The schoolhouse stood in a rather lonely but pleas- 
ant situation, just at the foot of a woody hill, with a brook 

20 running close by, and a formidable birch tree growing at 
one end of it. From hence the low murmur of his pupils' 
voices, conning over their lessons, might be heard in a 
drowsy summer's day, like the hum of a beehive; inter- 
rupted now and then by the authoritative voice of the 

25 master, in the tone of menace or command ; or, peradven- 
ture, by the appalling sound of the birch, as he urged 
some tardy loiterer along the flowery path of knowledge. 
Truth to say, he was a conscientious man, and ever bore 
in mind the golden maxim, ''spare the rod and spoil the 

30 child." — Ichabod Crane's scholars certainly were not 
spoiled. 

I would not have it imagined, however, that he was 
one of those cruel potentates of the school, who joy in the 
smart of their subjects; on the contrary, he administered 

35 justice with discrimination rather than severity; taking 



6 Readings in Literature 

the burthen off the backs of the weak and laying it on 
those of the strong. Your mere puny stripHng that 
winced at the least flourish of the rod, was passed by 
with indulgence; but the claims of justice were satisfied 
5 by inflicting a double portion on some little, tough, wrong- 
headed, broad-skirted Dutch urchin, who sulked and 
swelled and grew dogged and sullen beneath the birch. 
All this he called ''doing his duty by their parents/^ and 
he never inflicted a chastisement without following it by 

10 the assurance, so consolatory to the smarting urchin, that 
''he would remember it and thank him for it the longest 
day he had to live.'^ 

When school hours were over, he was even the com- 
panion and playmate of the larger boys; and on holiday 

15 afternoons would convoy some of the smaller ones home, 
who happened to have pretty sisters, or good housewives 
for mothers, noted for the comforts of the cupboard. 
Indeed, it behooved him to keep on good terms with his 
pupils. The revenue arising from his school was small, 

20 and would have been scarcely sufficient to furnish him 
with daily bread, for he was a huge feeder, and though 
lank, had the dilating powers of an anaconda; but to help 
out his maintenance, he was, according to country custom 
in those parts, boarded and lodged at the houses of the 

25 farmers, whose children he instructed. With these he 
lived successively, a week at a time; thus going the rounds 
of the neighborhood with all his worldly effects tied up 
in a cotton handkerchief. 

That all this might not be too onerous on the purses 

30 of his rustic patrons, who are apt to consider the costs of 
schooling a grievous burthen, and schoolmasters as 
mere drones, he had various ways of rendering himself 
both useful and agreeable. He assisted the farmers occa- 
sionally in the lighter labors of their farms; helped to 

35 make hay; mended the fences; took the horses to water; 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 7 

drove the cows from the pasture; and cut wood for the 
winter fire. He laid aside, too, all the dominant dignity 
and absolute sway with which he lorded it in his little 
empire, the school, and became wonderfully gentle and 
5 ingratiating. He found favor in the eyes of the mothers 
by petting the children, particularly the youngest; and 
like the lion bold, which whilome so magnanimously the 
lamb did hold, he would sit with a child on one knee, and 
rock a cradle with his foot for whole hours together. 

10 In addition to his other vocations, he was the singing 
master of the neighborhood, and picked up many bright 
shillings by instructing the young folks in psalmody. It 
was a matter of no little vanity to him on Sundays, to 
take his station in front of the church gallery, with a band 

15 of chosen singers; where, in his own mind, he completely 
carried away the palm from the parson. Certain it is, 
his voice resounded far above all the rest of the congre- 
gation; and there are peculiar quavers still to be heard in 
that church, and which may even be heard half a mile off, 

20 quite to the opposite side of the mill pond, on a still 
Sunday morning, which are said to be legitimately de- 
scended from the nose of Ichabod Crane. Thus, by 
divers little makeshifts in that ingenious way which is 
commonly denominated ''by hook and by crook," the 

25 worthy pedagogue got on tolerably enough, and was 
thought by all who understood nothing of the labor of 
head work, to have a wonderfully easy life of it. 

The schoolmaster is generally a man of some impor- 
tance in the female circle of a rural neighborhood; being 

30 considered a kind of idle gentleman-like personage, of 
vastly superior taste and accomplishments to the rough 
country swains, and, indeed, inferior in learning only to 
the parson. His appearance, therefore, is apt to occa- 
sion some little stir at the tea table of a farmhouse, and 

35 the addition of a supernumerary dish of cakes or sweet- 



8 Readings in Literature 

meats, or, peradventure, the parade of a silver teapot. 
Our man of letters, therefore, was peculiarly happy in 
the smiles of all the country damsels. How he would 
figure among them in the churchyard, between services 
5 on Sundays! gathering grapes for them from the wild 
vines that overrun the surrounding trees; reciting for 
their amusement all the epitaphs on the tombstones; or 
sauntering, with a whole bevy of them, along the banks 
of the adjacent mill pond; while the more bashful country 

10 bumpkins hung sheepishly back, envying his superior 
elegance and address. 

From his half itinerant life, also, he was a kind of 
traveling gazette, carrying the whole budget of local 
gossip from house to house ; so that his appearance was 

15 always greeted with satisfaction. He was, moreover, 
esteemed by the women as a man of great erudition, for 
he had read several books quite through, and was a per- 
fect master of Cotton Mather's ^'History of New Eng- 
land Witchcraft," in which, by the way^ he most firmly 

20 and potently believed. 

He was, in fact, an odd mixture of small shrewdness 
and simple credulity. His appetite for the marvelous, 
and his powers of digesting it, were equally extraordinary; 
and both had been increased by his residence in this spell- 

25 bound region. No tale was too gross or monstrous for 
his capacious swallow. It was often his delight, after his 
school was dismissed in the afternoon, to stretch himself 
on the rich bed of clover, bordering the little brook that 
whimpered by his schoolhouse, and there con over old 

30 Mather's direful tales, until the gathering dusk of even- 
ing made the printed page a mere mist before his eyes. 
Then, as he wended his way by swamp and stream and 
awful woodland, to the farmhouse where he happened to 
be quartered, every sound of nature, at that witching hour, 

35 fluttered his excited imagination : the moan of the whip- 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 9 

poor-will from the hillside; the boding cry of the tree 
toad, that harbinger of storm; the dreary hooting of the 
screech-owl, or the sudden rustling in the thicket, of birds 
frightened from their roost. The fireflies, too, which 
5 sparkled most vividly in the darkest places, now and then 
startled him, as one of uncommon brightness would stream 
across his path; and if, by chance, a huge blockhead of a 
beetle came winging his blundering flight against him, 
the poor varlet was ready to give up the ghost, with the 

10 idea that he was struck with a witch's token. His only 
resource on such occasions, either to drown thought, or 
drive away evil spirits, was to sing psalm tunes; — and the 
good people of Sleepy Hollow, as they sat by their doors 
of an evening, were often filled with awe, at hearing his 

15 nasal melody, "in linked sweetness long drawn out," 
floating from the distant hill, or along the dusky road. 

Another of his sources of fearful pleasure was, to pass 
long winter evenings with the old Dutch wives, as they 
sat spinning by the fire, with a row of apples roasting 

20 and sputtering along the hearth, and listen to their 
marvelous tales of ghosts and goblins, and haunted fields 
and haunted brooks, and haunted bridges and haunted 
houses, and particularly of The Headless Horseman, or 
Galloping Hessian of the Hollow, as they sometimes 

25 called him. He would delight them equally by his anec- 
dotes of witchcraft, and of the direful omens and porten- 
tous sights and sounds in the air, which prevailed in the 
earlier times of Connecticut; and would frighten them 
woefully with speculations upon comets and shooting 

30 stars; and with the alarming fact that the world did 
absolutely turn round, and that they were half the time 
topsy-turvy ! 

But if there was a pleasure in all this, while snugly 
cuddling in the chimney corner of a chamber that was all 

35 of a ruddy glow from the crackHng wood fire, and where, 



10 Readings in Literature 

of course, no specter dared to show his face, it was dearly- 
purchased by the terrors of his subsequent walk home- 
ward. What fearful shapes and shadows beset his path 
amidst the dim and ghastlj^ glare of a snowy night ! — ^With 
5 what wistful look did he eye every trembling ray of light 
streaming across the waste fields from some distant win- 
dow! How often was he appalled by some shrub cov- 
ered with snow, which, like a sheeted specter, beset his 
very path! How often did he shrink with curdling awe 

10 at the sound of his own steps on the frosty crust beneath 
his feet; and dread to look over his shoulder, lest he should 
behold some uncouth being tramping close behind him! — 
and how often was he thrown into complete dismay by 
some rushing blast, howling among the trees, in the idea 

15 that it was the Galloping Hessian on one of his nightly 
scourings ! 

All these, however, were mere terrors of the night, 
phantoms of the mind that walk in darkness; and though 
he had seen many specters in his time, and had been more 

20 than once beset by Satan in divers shapes, in his lonely 
perambulations, yet daylight put an end to all these evils; 
and he would have passed a pleasant life of it, in despite 
of the devil and all his works, if his path had not been 
crossed by a being that causes more perplexity to mortal 

25 man than ghosts, goblins, and the whole race of witches 
put together, and that was — a woman. 

Among the musical disciples who assembled, one 

evening in each week, to receive his instructions in psalm- 

. ody, was Katrina Van Tassel, the daughter and only 

30 child of a substantial Dutch farmer. She was a bloom- 
ing lass of fresh eighteen; plump as a partridge; ripe and 
melting and rosy-cheeked as one of her father's peaches, 
and universally famed, not merely for her beauty, but 
her vast expectations. She was withal a little of a co- 

35 quette, as might be perceived even in her dress, which 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 11 

was a mixture of ancient and modern fashions, as most 
suited to set off her charms. She wore the ornaments of 
pure yellow gold, which her great-great-grandmother had 
brought over from Saardam; the tempting stomacher of 
5 the olden time; and withal a provokingly short petticoat, 
to display the prettiest foot and ankle in the country 
round. 

Ichabod Crane had a soft and foolish heart toward 
the sex; and it is not to be wondered at, that so tempting 

10 a morsel soon found favor in his eyes, more especially 
after he had visited her in her paternal mansion. Old 
Baltus Van Tassel was a perfect picture of a thriving, 
contented, liberal-hearted farmer. He seldom, it is true, 
sent either his eyes or his thoughts beyond the boundaries 

15 of his own farm; but within those, everything was snug, 
happy and well conditioned. He was satisfied with his 
wealth, but not proud of it; and piqued himself upon the 
hearty abundance, rather than the style in which he lived. 
His stronghold was situated on the banks of the Hudson, 

20 in one of those green, sheltered, fertile nooks in which 
the Dutch farmers are so fond of nestling. A great elm 
tree spread its broad branches over it; at the foot of 
which bubbled up a spring of the softest and sweetest 
water, in a little well, formed of a barrel; and then stole 

25 sparkling away through the grass, to a neighboring brook, 
that bubbled along among alders and dwarf willows. 
Hard by the farmhouse was a vast barn, that might have 
served for a church; every window and crevice of which 
seemed bursting forth with the treasures of the farm; 

30 the flail was busily resounding within it from morning to 
night; swallows and martins skimmed twittering about 
the eaves, and rows of pigeons, some with one eye turned 
up, as if watching the weather, some with their heads 
under their wings or buried in their bosoms, and others 

35 swelling and cooing, and bowing about their dames, 



12 Readings in Literature 

were enjoying the sunshine on the roof. Sleek unwieldy 
porkers were grunting in the repose and abundance of 
their pens; whence sallied forth, now and then, troops 
of suckling pigs as if to snuff the air. A stately 
5 squadron of snowy geese were riding in an adjoining 
pond, convoying whole fleets of ducks ; regiments of tur- 
keys were gobbling through the farmyard^ and guinea 
fowls fretting about it, like ill-tempered housewives, with 
their peevish discontented cry. Before the barn door 

10 strutted the gallant cock, that pattern of a husband, a 
warrior, and a fine gentleman, clapping his burnished 
wings, and crowing in the pride and gladness of his heart 
— sometimes tearing up the earth with his feet; and then 
generously calling his ever-hungry family of wives and 

15 children to enjoy the rich morsel which he had discovered. 

The pedagogue's mouth watered, as he looked upon 

this sumptuous promise of luxurious winter fare. In his 

devouring mind's eye, he pictured to himself every roast- 

ing-pig running about with a pudding in its belly, and 

20 an apple in its mouth; the pigeons were snugly put to 
bed in a comfortable pie, and tucked in with a coverlet of 
crust; the geese were swimming in their own gravy; and 
the ducks pairing cosily in dishes, like snug married 
couples, with a decent competency of onion sauce. In 

25 the porkers he saw carved out the future sleek side of 
bacon, and juicy relishing ham; not a turkey but he be- 
held daintily trussed up, with its gizzard under its wing, 
and, peradventure, a necklace of savory sausages; and even 
bright chanticleer himself lay sprawling on his back, in a 

30 side dish_, with uplifted claws, as if craving that quarter 
which his chivalrous spirit disdained to ask while living. 

As the enraptured Ichabod fancied all this, and as he 
rolled his great green eyes over the fat meadow-lands, 
the rich fields of wheat, of rye, of buckwheat, and Indian 

35 corn, and the orchards burthened with ruddy fruit, 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 13 

which surrounded the warm tenement of Van Tassel, 
his heart yearned after the damsel who was to inherit 
these domains, and his imagination expanded with the 
idea, how they might be readily turned into cash, and the 
5 money invested in immense tracts of wild land, and shingle 
palaces in the wilderness. Nay, his busy fancy already 
realized his hopes, and presented to him the blooming 
Katrina, with a whole family of children, mounted on the 
top of a wagon loaded with household trumpery, with 

10 pots and kettles dangling beneath; and he beheld him- 
self bestriding a pacing mare, with a colt at her heels, 
setting out for Kentucky, Tennessee, or the Lord knows 
where. 

When he entered the house the conquest of his heart 

15 was complete. It was one of those spacious farmhouses, 
with high-ridged, but lowly sloping roofs, built in the 
style handed down from the first Dutch settlers; the low 
projecting eaves forming a piazza along the front, capable 
of being closed up in bad weather. Under this were hung 

20 flails, harness, various utensils of husbandry, and nets for 
fishing in the neighboring river. Benches were built 
along the sides for summer use; and a great spinning- 
wheel at one end, and a churn at the other, showed the 
various uses to which this important porch might be 

25 devoted. From this piazza the wondering Ichabod en- 
tered the hall, which formed the center of the mansion, 
and the place of usual residence. Here rows of resplen- 
dent pewter, ranged on a long dresser, dazzled his eyes. 
In one corner stood a huge bag of wool ready to be spun; 

30 in another a quantity of linsey-woolsey just from the 
loom; ears of Indian corn, and strings of dried apples and 
peaches, hung in gay festoons along the walls, mingled 
with the gaud of red peppers; and a door left ajar gave 
him a peep into the best parlor, where the claw-footed 

35 chairs, and dark mahogany tables, shone like mirrors; and- 



14 Readings in Literature 

irons, with their accompanying shovel and tongs, glis- 
tened from their covert of asparagus tops; mock-oranges 
and conch-shells decorated the mantelpiece; strings of 
various colored birds' eggs were suspended above it: a 
5 great ostrich egg was hung from the center of the room, 
and a corner cupboard, knowingly left open, displayed 
immense treasures of old silver and well-mended china. 

From the moment Ichabod laid his eyes upon these 
regions of delight the peace of his mind was at an end, 
10 and his only study was how to gain the affections of the 
peerless daughter of Van Tassel. In this enterprise, how- 
ever, he had more real difficulties than generally fell to 
the lot of a knight-errant of yore, who seldom had any- 
thing but giants, enchanters, fiery dragons, and such like 

15 easily conquered adversaries, to contend with; and had 
to make his way merely through gates of iron and brass, 
and walls of adamant, to the castle-keep, where the lady 
of his heart was confined; all which he achieved as 
easily as a man would carve his way to the center of a 

20 Christmas pie, and then the lady gave him her hand as 
a matter of course. Ichabod, on the contrary, had to 
win his way to the heart of a country coquette beset with 
a labyrinth of whims and caprices, which were forever 
presenting new difficulties and impediments; and he had 

25 to encounter a host of fearful adversaries of real flesh and 
blood, the numerous rustic admirers, who beset every 
portal to her heart; keeping a watchful and angry eye 
upon each other, but ready to fly out in the common cause 
against any new competitor. 

30 Among these the most formidable was a burly, roar- 
ing, roistering blade, of the name of Abraham, or, accord- 
ing to the Dutch abbreviation, Brom Van Brunt, the 
hero of the country round, which rang with his feats of 
strength and hardihood. He was broad-shouldered and 

35 double-jointed, with short curly black hair, and a bluff, 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 15 

but not unpleasant countenance, having a mingled 
air of fun and arrogance. From his herculean frame 
and great powers of limb, he had received the nickname 
of Brom Bones, by which he was universally known. He 
5 was famed for great knowledge and skill in horsemanship, 
being as dexterous on horseback as a Tartar. He 
was foremost at all races and cock-fights; and with the 
ascendancy which bodily strength acquires in rustic 
life, was the umpire in all disputes, setting his hat on 

10 one side, and giving his decision with an air and tone ad- 
mitting of no gainsay or appeal. He was always ready 
for either a fight or a frolic; but had more mischief 
than ill-will in his composition; and, with all his over- 
bearing roughness there was a strong dash of waggish 

15 good humor at bottom. He had three or four boon com- 
panions, who regarded him as their model, and at the 
head of whom he scoured the country, attending every 
scene of feud or merriment for miles round. In cold 
weather he was distinguished by a fur cap, surmounted 

20 with a flaunting fox's tail; and when the folks at a 
country gathering descried this well-known crest at a 
distance, whisking about among a squad of hard riders, 
they always stood by for a squall. Sometimes his crew 
would be heard dashing along past the farmhouses at 

25 midnight, with whoop and halloo, like a troop of Don 
Cossacks; and the old dames, startled out of their sleep, 
would listen for a moment till the hurry-scurry had 
clattered by, and then exclaim, ''Ay, there goes Brom 
Bones and his gang!" The neighbors looked upon him 

30 with a mixture of awe, admiration, and good will; and 
when any madcap prank or rustic brawl occurred in 
the vicinity, always shook their heads, and warranted 
Brom Bones was at the bottom of it. 

This rantipole hero had for some time singled out the 

35 blooming Katrina for the object of his uncouth gallan- 



16 Readings in Literature 

tries, and though his amorous toyings were something 
Uke the gentle caresses and endearments of a bear, yet it 
was whispered that she did not altogether discourage his 
hopes. Certain it is, his advances were signals for rival 
5 candidates to retire, who felt no inclination to cross a lion 
in his amours; insomuch, that when his horse was seen 
tied to Van Tassel's paling, on a Sunday night, a sure 
sign that his master was courting, or, as it is termed, 
''sparking," within, all other suitors passed by in despair, 

10 and carried the war into other quarters. 

Such was the formidable rival with whom Ichabod 
Crane had to contend, and considering all things, a 
stouter man than he would have shrunk from the com- 
petition, and a wiser man would have despaired. He had, 

15 however, a happy mixture of pliability and perseverance 
in his nature; he was in form and spirit like a supple- 
jack — yielding but tough; though he bent, he never broke; 
and though he bowed beneath the slightest pressure, yet, 
the moment it was away — jerk! he was as erect, and 

20 carried his head as high as ever. 

To have taken the field openly against his rival 
would have been madness; for he was not a man to be 
thwarted in his amours, any more than that stormy lover, 
Achilles. Ichabod, therefore, made his advances in a 

25 quiet and gently-insinuating manner. Under cover of 
his character of singing-master, he made frequent visits 
at the farmhouse; not that he had anything to apprehend 
from the meddlesome interference of parents, which is 
so often a stumbling-block in the path of lovers. Bait 

30 Van Tassel was an easy, indulgent soul; he loved his 
daughter better even than his pipe, and, like a reasonable 
man and an excellent father, let her have her way in 
everything. His notable little wife, too, had enough to 
do to attend to her housekeeping and manage her poultry, 

35 for, as she sagely observed, ducks and geese are foolish 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 17 

things, and must be looked after, but girls can take care 
of themselves. Thus, while the busy dame bustled about 
the house, or plied her spinning-wheel at one end of the 
piazza, honest Bait would sit smoking his evening pipe 
5 at the other, watching the achievements of a little wooden 
warrior, who, armed with a sword in each hand, was most 
valiantly fighting the wind on the pinnacle of the barn. 
In the meantime, Ichabod would carry on his suit with 
the daughter by the side of the spring under the great 

10 elm, or sauntering along in the twilight, that hour so 
favorable to the lover's eloquence. 

I profess not to know how women's hearts are wooed 
and won. To me they have always been matters of riddle 
and admiration. Some seem to have but one vulnerable 

15 point, or door of access; while others have a thousand 
avenues, and may be captured in a thousand different 
ways. It is a great triumph of skill to gain the former, but 
a still greater proof of generalship to maintain possession 
of the latter, for a man must battle for his fortress at every 

20 door and window. He who wins a thousand common 
hearts is therefore entitled to some renown; but he who 
keeps undisputed sway over the heart of a coquette, is in- 
deed a hero. Certain it is, this was not the case with the 
redoubtable Brom Bones ; and from the moment Ichabod 

25 Crane made his advances, the interests of the former evi- 
dently declined; his horse was no longer seen tied at the 
palings on Sunday nights, and a deadly feud gradually 
arose between him and the preceptor of Sleepy Hollow. 
Brom, who had a degree of rough chivalry in his 

30 nature, would fain have carried matters to open warfare, 
and have settled their pretensions to the lady, according 
to the mode of those most concise and simple reasoners, 
the knights-errant of yore — by single combat; but Ichabod 
was too conscious of the superior might of his adversary 

35 to enter the lists against him : he had overheard the boast 



18 Readings in Literature 

of Bones, that he would '' double the schoolmaster up, and 
lay him on a shelf of his own schoolhouse"; and he was 
too wary to give him an opportunity. There was some- 
thing extremely provoking in this obstinately pacific sys- 
5 tem; it left Brom no alternative but to draw upon the 
funds of rustic waggery in his disposition, and to play off 
boorish practical jokes upon his rival. Ichabod became 
the object of whimsical persecution to Bones, and his gang 
of rough riders. They harried his hitherto peaceful do- 

10 mains; smoked out his singing school, by stopping up the 
chimney; broke into the schoolhouse at night, in spite of 
its formidable fastenings of withe and window stakes, and 
turned everything topsy-turvy : so that the poor school- 
master began to think all the witches in the country held 

15 their meetings there. But what was still more annoying, 
Brom took all opportunities of turning him into ridicule 
in presence of his mistress, and had a scoundrel dog whom 
he taught to whine in a most ludicrous manner, and intro- 
duced as a rival of Ichabod's to instruct her in psalmody. 

20 In this way matters went on for some time, without 
producing any material effect on the relative situation 
of the contending powers. On a fine autumnal afternoon, 
Ichabod, in pensive mood, sat enthroned on the lofty stool 
whence he usually watched all the concerns of his little 

25 literary realm. In his hand he swayed a ferule, that 
scepter of despotic power; the birch of justice re- 
posed on three nails, behind the throne, a constant terror 
to evil-doers; while on the desk before him might be seen 
sundry contraband articles and prohibited weapons, de- 

30 tected upon the persons of idle urchins; such as half- 
munched apples, pop-guns, whirligigs, fly-cages, and whole 
legions of rampant little paper game-cocks. Apparently 
there had been some appalling act of justice recently in- 
flicted, for his scholars were all busily intent upon their 

35 books, or slyly whispering behind them with one eye kept 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 19 

upon the master; and a kind of buzzing stillness reigned 
throughout the schoolroom. It was suddenly inter- 
rupted by the appearance of a negro, in tow-cloth jacket 
and trowsers, a round-crowned fragment of a hat, like 
5 the cap of Mercury, and mounted on the back of a ragged, 
wild, half-broken colt, which he managed with a rope by 
way of halter. He came clattering up to the school door 
with an invitation to Ichabod to attend a merrymaking 
or ''quilting frolic," to be held that evening at Mynheer 

10 Van Tassel's; and having delivered his message with that 
air of importance, and effort at fine language, which a 
negro is apt to display on petty embassies of the kind, 
he dashed over the brook, and was seen scampering away 
up the hollow, full of the importance and hurry of his 

15 mission. 

All was now bustle and hubbub in the late quiet 
schoolroom. The scholars were hurried through their 
lessons, without stopping at trifles ; those who were nim- 
ble skipped over half with impunity, and those who were 

20 tardy, had a smart application now and then in the rear, 
to quicken their speed, or help them over a tall word. 
Books were flung aside without being put away on the 
shelves, inkstands were overturned, benches thrown 
down, and the whole school was turned loose an hour 

25 before the usual time, bursting forth like a legion of 
young imps, yelping and racketing about the green, in 
joy at their early emancipation. 

The gallant Ichabod now spent at least an extra half- 
hour at his toilet, brushing and furbishing up his best, 

30 and indeed only suit of rusty black, and arranging his 
locks by a bit of broken looking-glass, that hung up in 
the schoolhouse. That he might make his appearance 
before his mistress in the true style of a cavalier, he bor- 
rowed a horse from the farmer with whom he was domi- 

35 ciliated, a choleric old Dutchman, of the name of Hans 



20 Readings in Literature 

Van Ripper, and, thus gallantly mounted, issued forth, 
like a knight-errant in quest of adventures. But it is 
meet I should, in the true spirit of romantic story, give 
some account of the looks and equipments of my hero 
5 and his steed. The animal he bestrode was a broken- 
down plough-horse, that had outlived almost everything 
but his viciousness. He was gaunt and shagged, with 
a ewe neck and a head like a hammer; his rusty mane 
and tail were tangled and knotted with burrs; one eye 

10 had lost its pupil, and was glaring and spectral; but the 
other had the gleam of a genuine devil in it. Still he must 
have had fire and mettle in his day, if we may judge from 
the name he bore of Gunpowder. He had, in fact, been 
a favorite steed of his master's, the choleric Van Ripper, 

15 who was a furious rider, and had infused, very probably, 

some of his own spirit into the animal; for, old and 

broken-down as he looked, there was more of the lurking 

devil in him than in any young filly in the country. 

Ichabod was a suitable figure for such a steed. He 

20 rode with short stirrups, which brought his knees nearly 
up to the pommel of the saddle; his sharp elbows stuck 
out like grasshoppers'; he carried his whip perpendicu- 
larly in his hand, like a scepter, and, as the horse jogged 
on, the motion of his arms was not unlike the flapping of 

25 a pair of wings. A small wool hat rested on the top of 
his nose, for so his scanty strip of forehead might be called; 
and the skirts of his black coat fluttered out almost to 
the horse's tail. Such was the appearance of Ichabod 
and his steed as they shambled out of the gate of Hans 

30 Van Ripper, and it was altogether such an apparition as 
is seldom to be met with in broad daylight. 

It was, as I have said, a fine autumnal day; the sky 
was clear and serene, and nature wore that rich and 
golden livery which we always associate with the idea 

35 of abundance. The forests had put on their sober brown 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 21 

and yellow, while some trees of the tenderer kind had 
been nipped by the frosts into brilliant dyes of orange, 
purple, and scarlet. Streaming files of wild ducks began 
to make their appearance high in the air; the bark of the 
5 squirrel might be heard from the groves of beech and 
hickory nuts, and the pensive whistle of the quail at in- 
tervals from the neighboring stubble field. 

The small birds were taking their farewell banquets. 
In the fullness of their revelry, they fluttered, chirping 

10 and frolicing, from bush to bush, and tree to tree, capricious 
from the very profusion and variety around them. 
There was the honest cock-robin, the favorite game of 
stripling sportsmen, with its loud querulous note, and 
the twittering blackbirds flying in sable clouds; and the 

15 golden-winged woodpecker, with his crimson crest, his 
broad black gorget, and splendid plumage; and the cedar- 
bird, with its red-tipt wings and yellow-tipt tail, and 
its little monteiro cap of feathers; and the blue jay, 
that noisy coxcomb, in his gay light-blue coat and white 

20 underclothes, screaming and chattering, nodding and 
bobbing and bowing, and pretending to be on good terms 
with every songster of the grove. 

As Ichabod jogged slowly on his way, his eye, ever open 
to every symptom of culinary abundance, ranged with 

25 delight over the treasures of jolly autumn. On all sides 
he beheld vast stores of apples; some hanging in oppres- 
sive opulence on the trees; some gathered into baskets 
and barrels for the market; others heaped up in rich 
piles for the cider-press. Farther on he beheld great 

30 fields of Indian corn, with its golden ears peeping from 
their leafy coverts, and holding out the promise of cakes 
and hasty-pudding; and the yellow pumpkins lying be- 
neath them turning up their fair round bellies to the 
sun, and giving ample prospect of the most luxurious 

35 of pies; and anon he passed fragrant buckwheat fields, 



22 Readings in Literature 

breathing the odor of the beehive, and as he beheld them, 
soft anticipation stole over his mind of dainty slap-jacks, 
well buttered, and garnished with honey or treacle, by 
the delicate little dimpled hand of Katrina Van Tassel. 
5 Thus feeding his mind Tvith many sweet thoughts and 
^'sugared suppositions," he journeyed along the sides of 
a range of hills which look out upon some of the goodliest 
scenes of the mighty Hudson. The sun gradually 
wheeled his broad disc down in the west. The wide 

10 bosom of the Tappan Zee lay motionless and glassy, ex- 
cepting that here and there a gentle undulation waved 
and prolonged the blue shadow of the distant mountain. 
A few amber clouds floated in the sky, without a breath of 
air to move them. The horizon was of a fine golden tint, 

15 changing gradually into a pure apple green, and from 
that into the deep blue of the mid-heaven. A slanting 
ray lingered on the woody crests of the precipices that 
overhung some parts of the river, giving greater depth 
to the dark gray and purple of their rocky sides. A sloop 

20 was loitering in the distance, dropping slowly down with 
the tide, her sail hanging uselessly against the mast; and 
as the reflection of the sky gleamed along the still water, 
it seemed as if the vessel was suspended in the air. 

It was toward evening that Ichabod arrived at the 

25 castle of the Heer Van Tassel, which he found thronged 
with the pride and flower of the adjacent country — old 
farmers, a spare leathern-faced race, in homespun coats 
and breeches, blue stockings, huge shoes, and magnificent 
pewter buckles; their brisk, withered little dames, in 

30 close-crimped caps, long-waisted gowns, homespun petti- 
coats, with scissors and pin-cushions, and gay calico 
pockets hanging on the outside ; buxom lasses, almost as 
antiquated as their mothers, excepting where a straw hat, 
a fine ribbon, or perhaps a white frock, gave symptoms 

35 of city innovation; the sons, in short square-skirted 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 23 

coats with rows of stupendous brass buttons, and their 
hair generally queued in the fashion of the times, espe- 
cially if they could procure an eelskin for the purpose, it 
being esteemed throughout the country, as a potent 
5 nourisher and strengthener of the hair. 

Brom Bones, however, was the hero of the scene, 
having come to the gathering on his favorite steed Dare- 
devil, a creature like himself, full of mettle and mischief, 
and which no one but himself could manage. He was, 

10 in fact, noted for preferring vicious animals, given to all 
kinds of tricks, which kept the rider in constant risk of 
his neck, for he held a tractable well-broken horse as un- 
worthy of a lad of spirit. 

Fain would I pause to dwell upon the world of charms 

15 that burst upon the enraptured gaze of my hero, as he 
entered the state parlor of Van Tassel's mansion. Not 
those of the bevy of buxom lasses, with their luxurious 
display of red and white; but the ample charms of a 
genuine Dutch country tea table, in the sumptuous time 

20 of autumn. Such heaped-up platters of cakes of various 
and almost indescribable kinds, known only to the ex- 
perienced Dutch housewives! There was the doughty 
doughnut, the tender oly-koek, and the crisp and crum- 
bling cruller; sweet cakes and short cakes, ginger cakes 

25 and honey cakes, and the whole family of cakes. And 
then there were apple pies and peach pies and pumpkin 
pies; besides slices of ham and smoked beef; and more- 
over delectable dishes of preserved plums, and peaches, 
and pears, and quinces; not to mention broiled shad and 

30 roasted chickens; together with bowls of milk and cream, 
all mingled higgledy-piggledy, pretty much as I have enu- 
merated them, with the motherly teapot sending up its 
clouds of vapor from the midst — Heaven bless the 
mark! I want breath and time to discuss this banquet 

35 as it deserves, and am too eager to get on with my 



24 Readings in Literature 

story. Happily, Ichabod Crane was not in so great 
a hurry as his historian, but did ample justice to every 
dainty. 

He was a kind and thankful creature, whose heart 
5 dilated in proportion as his skin was filled with good cheer; 
and whose spirits rose with eating, as some men's do 
with drink. He could not help, too, rolling his large eyes 
round him as he ate, and chuckling with the possibility 
that he might one day be lord of all this scene of almost 

10 unimaginable luxury and splendor. Then, he thought, 
how soon he'd turn his back upon the old schoolhouse; 
snap his fingers in the face of Hans Van Ripper, and every 
other niggardly patron, and kick any itinerant pedagogue 
out of doors that should dare call him comrade! 

15 Old Baltus Van Tassel moved about among his guests 
with a face dilated with content and good humor, round 
and jolly as the harvest moon. His hospitable attentions 
were brief, but expressive, being confined to a shake of 
the hand, a slap on the shoulder, a loud laugh, and a 

20 pressing invitation to ''fall to, and help themselves." 

And now the sound of the music from the common 
room, or hall, summoned to the dance. The musician 
was an old gray-headed negro, who had been the itinerant 
orchestra of the neighborhood for more than half a cen- 

25 tury. His instrument was as old and battered as him- 
self. The greater part of the time he scraped away on 
two or three strings, accompanying every movement of 
the bow with a motion of the head; bowing almost to the 
ground, and stamping with his foot whenever a fresh 

30 couple were to start. 

Ichabod prided himself upon his dancing as much as 
upon his vocal powers. Not a limb, not a fiber about 
him was idle; and to have seen his loosely hung frame in 
full motion, and clattering aboc.t the room, you would 

35 have thought St. Vitus himself, that blessed patron of 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 25 

the dance, was figuring before you in person. He was 
the admiration of all the negroes; who, having gathered, 
of all ages and sizes, from the farm and the neighborhood, 
stood forming a pyramid of shining black faces at every 
5 door and window, gazing with delight at the scene, rolling 
their white eye-balls, and showing grinning rows of ivory 
from ear to ear. How could the flogger of urchins be 
otherwise than animated and joyous? the lady of his 
heart was his partner in the dance, and smiling graciously 

10 in reply to all his amorous oglings; while Brom Bones, 
sorely smitten with love and jealousy, sat brooding by 
himself in one corner. 

When the dance was at an end, Ichabod was attracted 
to a knot of the sager folks, who, with old Van Tassel, sat 

15 smoking at one end of the piazza, gossiping over former 
times, and drawling out long stories about the war. 

This neighborhood, at the time of which I am speak- 
ing, was one of those highly favored places which abound 
with chronicle and great men. The British and American 

20 line had run near it during the war ; it had, therefore, been 
the scene of marauding, and infested with refugees, cow- 
boys, and all kinds of border chivalry. Just sufficient 
time had elapsed to enable each story-teller to dress up 
his tale with a little becoming fiction, and, in the indis- 

25 tinctness of his recollection, to make himself the hero of 
every exploit. 

There was the story of Doffue Martling, a large, blue- 
bearded Dutchman, who had nearly taken a British 
frigate with an old iron nine-pounder from a mud breast- 

30 work, only that his gun burst at the sixth discharge. 
And there was an old gentleman who shall be nameless, 
being too rich a mynheer to be lightly mentioned, who, 
in the battle of White Plains, being an excellent master 
of defense, parried a musket ball with a small sword, in- 

35 somuch that he absolutely felt it whiz round the blade, 



26 Readings in Literature 

and glance off at the hilt : in proof of which he was ready 
at any time to show the sword, T\dth the hilt a little bent. 
There were several more that had been equally great in 
the field, not one of whom but was persuaded that he 
5 had a considerable hand in bringing the war to a happy 
termination. 

But all these were nothing to the tales of ghosts and 
apparitions that succeeded. The neighborhood is rich in 
legendary treasures of the kind. Local tales and super- 

10 stitions thrive best in these sheltered long-settled re- 
treats; but are trampled under foot by the shifting throng 
that forms the population of most of our country places. 
Besides, there is no encouragement for ghosts in most of 
our villages, for they have scarcely had time to finish 

15 their first nap, and turn themselves in their graves, before 
their surviving friends have traveled away from the 
neighborhood; so that when they turn out at night to 
walk their rounds, thay have no acquaintance left to call 
upon. This is perhaps the reason why we so seldom hear 

20 of ghosts except in our long-established Dutch communi- 
ties. 

The immediate cause, however, of the prevalence of 
supernatural stories in these parts, was doubtless owing 
to the vicinity of Sleepy Hollow. There was a contagion 

25 in the very air that blew from that haunted region; it 
breathed forth an atmosphere of dreams and fancies in- 
fecting all the land. Several of the Sleepy Hollow people 
were present at Van Tassel's, and, as usual, were doling ' 
out their wild and wonderful legends. Many dismal 

30 tales were told about funeral trains and mourning cries 
and wailings heard and seen about the great tree where 
the unfortunate Alajor Andre was taken, and which 
stood in the neighborhood. Some mention was made also 
of the woman in white, that haunted the dark glen at 

35 Ravenrock, and was often heard to shriek on winter 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 27 

nights before a storm, having perished there in the snow. 
The chief part of the stories, however, turned upon the 
favorite specter of Sleepy Hollow, the Headless Horse- 
man, who had been heard several times of late, patroling 
5 the country; and, it was said, tethered his horse nightly 
among the graves in the churchyard. 

The sequestered situation of this church seems always 
to have made it a favorite haunt of troubled spirits. It 
stands on a knoll, surrounded by locust trees and lofty 

10 elms, from among which its decent, white-washed walls 
shine modestly forth, like Christian purity, beaming 
through the shades of retirement. A gentle slope de- 
scends from it to a silver sheet of water, bordered by high 
trees, between which, peeps may be caught at the blue 

15 hills of the Hudson. To look upon its grass-grown yard, 
where the sunbeams seem to sleep so quietly, one would 
think that there at least the dead might rest in peace. 
On one side of the church extends a wide woody dell, 
along which raves a large brook among broken rocks and 

20 trunks of fallen trees. Over a deep black part of the 
stream, not far from the church, was formerly thrown a 
wooden bridge; the road that led to it, and the bridge 
itself, were thickly shaded by overhanging trees, which 
cast a gloom about it, even in the daytime; but occasioned 

25 a fearful darkness at night. This was one of the favorite 
haunts of the Headless Horseman and the place where he 
was most frequently encountered. The tale was told of 
old Brouwer, a most heretical disbeliever in ghosts, how 
he met the horseman returning from his foray into Sleepy 

30 Hollow, and was obliged to get up behind him; how they 
galloped over bush and brake, over hill and swamp, until 
they reached the bridge, when the horseman suddenly 
turned into a skeleton, threw old Brouwer into the brook, 
and sprang away over the tree-tops with a clap of thunder. 

35 This story was immediately matched by a thrice mar- 



28 Readings in Literature 

velous adventure of Brom Bones, who made light of the 
Galloping Hessian as an arrant jockey. He affirmed that, 
on returning one night from the neighboring village of 
Sing Sing, he had been overtaken bj^ this midnight 
5 trooper; that he had offered to race with him for a bowl of 
punch, and should have won it too, for Daredevil beat 
the goblin horse all hollow; but just as they came to the 
church bridge, the Hessian bolted, and vanished in a 
flash of fire. 

10 All these tales, told in that drowsy undertone with 
which men talk in the dark, the countenances of the lis- 
teners only now and then receiving a casual gleam from 
the glare of a pipe, sank deep in the mind of Ichabod. 
He repaid them in kind with, large extracts from his in- 

15 valuable author, Cotton Mather, and added many mar- 
velous events that had taken place in his native state of 
Connecticut, and fearful sights w^hich he had seen in his 
nightly walks about Sleepy Hollow. 

The revel now gradually broke up. The old farmers 

20 gathered together their families in their wagons, and were 
heard for some time rattling along the hollow roads, and 
over the distant hills. Some of the damsels mounted 
on piUions behind their favorite swains, and their light- 
hearted laughter, mingling with the clatter of hoofs, 

25 echoed along the silent woodlands, sounding fainter and 
fainter, until they gradually died away — and the late 
scene of noise and frolic was all silent and deserted. 
Ichabod only lingered behind, according to the custom 
of country lovers, to have a ''tete-a-tete" with the heiress, 

30 fully convinced that he was now on the high road to suc- 
cess. What passed at this inter\dew I wiW not pretend to 
say, for I do not know. Something, however. If ear me, must 
have gone ^^Tong, for he certainly sallied forth, after no 
very great interval, with an air quite desolate and chap- 

35 fallen — oh, these women! these women! Could that girl 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 29 

have been playing off any of her coquettish tricks? — Was 
her encouragement of the poor pedagogue all a mere sham 
to secure her conquest of his rival? — ^Heaven only knows, 
not I ! — Let it suffice to say, Ichabod stole forth with the 
5 air of one who had been sacking a henroost, rather than 
a fair lady's heart. Without looking to the right or left 
to notice the scene of rural wealth, on which he had so 
often gloated, he went straight to the stable, and with 
several hearty cuffs and kicks, roused his steed most un- 

10 courteously from the comfortable quarters in which he 
was soundly sleeping, dreaming of mountains of corn and 
oats, and whole valleys of timothy and clover. 

It was the very witching time of night that Ichabod, 
heavy-hearted and crest-fallen, pursued his travel home- 

15 wards, along the sides of the lofty hills which rise above 
Tarry Town, and which he had traversed so cheerily in 
the afternoon. The hour was as dismal as himself. Far 
below him, the Tappan Zee spread its dusky and indis- 
tinct waste of waters, with here and there the tall mast of 

20 a sloop, riding quietly at anchor under the land. In the 
dead hush of midnight, he could even hear the barking of 
the watchdog from the opposite shore of the Hudson; but 
it was so vague and faint as only to give an idea of his 
distance from this faithful companion of man. Now and 

25 then, too, the long-drawn crowing of a cock accidently 
awakened, would sound far, far off, from some farmhouse 
away among the hills — but it was like a dreaming sound in 
his ear. No signs of life occurred near him, but occasion- 
ally the melancholy chirp of a cricket, or perhaps the gut- 

30 tural twang of a bullfrog from a neighboring marsh, as if 

sleeping uncomfortably, and turning suddenly in his bed. 

All the stories of ghosts and goblins that he had heard 

in the afternoon, now came crowding upon his recollection. 

The night grew darker and darker; the stars seemed to 

35 sink deeper in the sky, and driving clouds occasionally hid 



30 Readings in Literature 

them from his sight. He had never felt so lonely and 
dismal. He was, moreover, approaching the very place 
where many of the scenes of the ghost stories had been 
laid. In the center of the road stood an enormous tulip- 
5 tree, which towered like a giant above all the other trees 
of the neighborhood, and formed a kind of landmark. Its 
limbs were gnarled and fantastic, large enough to form 
trunks for ordinary trees, twisting down almost to the 
earth, and rising again into the air. It was connected 

10 with the tragical story of the unfortunate Andre, who had 
been taken prisoner hard by; and was universally known 
by the name of Major Andre's tree. The common people 
regarded it with a mixture of respect and superstition, 
partly out of sympathy for the fate of its ill-starred name- 

15 sake, and partly from the tales of strange sights and dole- 
ful lamentations told concerning it. 

As Ichabod approached this fearful tree he began to 
whistle : he thought his whistle was answered ; it was but 
a blast sweeping sharply through the dry branches. As 

20 he approached a little nearer, he thought he saw some- 
thing white hanging in the midst of the tree; he paused, 
and ceased whistling; but on looking more narrowly, per- 
ceived that it was a place where the tree had been 
scathed by hghtning, and the white wood laid bare. 

25 Suddenly he heard a groan — his teeth chattered, his knees 
smote against the saddle; it was but the rubbing of one 
huge bough upon another, as they were swayed about by 
the breeze. He passed the tree in safety, but new perils 
lay before him. 

30 About two hundred yards from the tree a small brook 
crossed the road, and ran into a marshy and thickly 
wooded glen, known by the name of Wiley's Swamp. A 
few rough logs, laid side by side, served for a bridge over 
this stream. On that side of the road where the brook 

35 entered the wood, a group of oaks and chestnuts, matted 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 31 

thick with wild grapevines, threw a cavernous gloom over 
it. To pass this bridge was the severest trial. It was at 
this identical spot that the unfortunate Andre was cap- 
tured, and under the covert of those chestnuts and vines 
5 were the sturdy yeomen concealed who surprised him. 
This has ever since been considered a haunted stream, 
and fearful are the feelings of a schoolboy who has to 
pass it alone after dark. 

As he approached the stream his heart began to 

10 thump; he summoned up, however, all his resolution, 
gave his horse half a score of kicks in the ribs and at- 
tempted to dash briskly across the bridge ; but instead of 
starting forward, the perverse old animal made a lateral 
movement, and ran broadside against the fence. Ichabod, 

15 whose fears increased with the delay, jerked the reins on 
the other side, and kicked lustily with the contrary foot : 
it was all in vain; his steed started, it is true, but it was 
only to plunge to the opposite side of the road into a 
thicket of brambles and alder bushes. The schoolmaster 

20 now bestowed both whip and heel upon the starveling 
ribs of old Gunpowder, who dashed forward, snuffling and 
snorting, but came to a stand just by the bridge, with a 
suddenness that had nearly sent his rider sprawling over 
his head. Just at this moment a plashy tramp by the 

25 side of the bridge caught the sensitive ear of Ichabod. 
In the dark shadow of the grove, on the margin of the 
brook, he beheld something huge, misshapen, black and 
towering. It stirred not, but seemed gathered up in the 
gloom like some gigantic monster ready to spring upon 

30 the traveler. 

The hair of the affrighted pedagogue rose upon his 
head with terror. What was to be done? To turn and 
fly was now too late; and besides, what chance was there 
of escaping ghost or goblin, if such it was, which could 

35 ride upon the wings of the wind? Summoning up, there- 



32 Readings in Literature 

fore, a show of courage, he demanded in stammering ac- 
cents — ^'Who are you?" He received no reply. He re- 
peated his demand in a still more agitated voice. Still 
there was no answer. Once more he cudgeled the sides 
5 of the inflexible Gunpowder, and shutting his eyes, broke 
forth with involuntary fervor into a psalm tune. Just 
then the shadowy object of alarm put itself in motion, 
and, with a scramble and a bound, stood at once in the 
middle of the road. Though the night was dark and dis- 

10 mal, yet the form of the unknown might now in some 
degree be ascertained. He appeared to be a horseman of 
large dimensions, and mounted on a black horse of power- 
ful frame. He made no offer of molestation or socia- 
biUty, but kept aloof on one side of the road, jogging 

15 along on the blind side of old Gunpowder, who had now 
got over his fright and waywardness. 

Ichabod, who had no relish for this strange midnight 
companion, and bethought himself of the adventure of 
Brom Bones with the Galloping Hessian, now quickened 

20 his steed, in hopes of leaving him behind. The stranger, 
however, quickened his horse to an equal pace. Ichabod 
pulled up, and fell into a walk, thinking to lag behind — 
the other did the same. His heart began to sink within 
him; he endeavored to resume his psalm tune, but his 

25 parched tongue clove to the roof of his mouth and he 
could not utter a stave. There was something in the 
moody and dogged silence of this pertinacious companion, 
that was mysterious and appalling. It was soon fearfully 
accounted for. On mounting a rising ground, which 

30 brought the figure of his fellow-traveler in relief against 
the sky, gigantic in height, and muffled in a cloak, Icha- 
bod was horror-struck, on perceiving that he was head- 
less! — but his horror was still more increased, on 
observing that the head, which should have rested on 

35 his shoulders, was carried before him on the pommel of 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 33 

his saddle: his terror rose to desperation; he rained a 
shower of kicks and blows upon Gunpowder, hoping, by 
a sudden movement, to give his companion the slip — but 
the specter started full jump with him. Away then they 
5 dashed, through thick and thin; stones flying, and sparks 
flashing at every bound. Ichabod's flimsy garments flut- 
tered in the air, as he stretched his long lank body 
away over his horse's head, in the eagerness of his flight. 
They had now reached the road which turns off to 

10 Sleepy Hollow; but Gunpowder, who seemed possessed 
with a demon, instead of keeping up it, made an opposite 
turn and plunged headlong down hill to the left. This 
road leads through a sandy hollow shaded by trees for 
about a quarter of a mile, where it crosses the bridge 

15 famous in goblin story, and just beyond swells the green 
knoll on which stands the whitewashed church. 

As yet the panic of the steed had given his unskillful 
rider an apparent advantage in the chase; but just as he 
had got half way through the hollow, the girths of the 

20 saddle gave way, and he felt it slipping from under him. 
He seized it by the pommel, and endeavored to hold it 
firm, but in vain; and had just time to save himself by 
clasping old Gunpowder round the neck, when the saddle 
fell to the earth, and he heard it trampled under foot by 

25 his pursuer. For a moment the terror of Hans Van 
Ripper's wrath passed across his mind — for it was his Sun- 
day saddle; but this was no time for petty fears; the gob- 
lin was hard on his haunches ; and (unskillful rider that 
he was !) he had much ado to maintain his seat ; sometimes 

30 slipping on one side, sometimes on another, and sometimes 
jolted on the high ridge of his horse's back bone, with a 
violence that he verily feared would cleave him asunder. 

An opening in the trees now cheered him with the 
hopes that the church bridge was at hand. The waver- 

35 ing reflection of a silver star in the bosom of the brook 



34 Readings in Literature 

told him that he was not mistaken. He saw the walls of 
the church dimly glaring under the trees beyond. He 
recollected the place where Brom Bones' ghostly com- 
petitor had disappeared. ''If I can but reach that 
5 bridge," thought Ichabod, ''I am safe." Just then he 
heard the black steed panting and blowing close behind 
him; he even fancied that he felt his hot breath. An- 
other convulsive kick in the ribs, and old Gunpowder 
sprang upon the bridge; he thundered over the resounding 

10 planks; he gained the opposite side, and now Ichabod 
cast a look behind to see if his pursuer should vanish, 
according to rule, in a flash of fire and brimstone. Just 
then he saw the goblin rising in his stirrups, and in the 
very act of hurling his head at him. Ichabod endeavored 

15 to dodge the horrible missile, but too late. It encoun- 
tered his cranium with a tremendous crash — he was tum- 
bled headlong into the dust, and Gunpowder, the black 
steed, and the goblin rider, passed by like a whirlwind. 
The next morning the old horse was found without his 

20 saddle, and with the bridle under his feet, soberly cropping 
the grass at his master's gate. Ichabod did not make his 
appearance at breakfast — dinner hour came^ but no Icha- 
bod. The boys assembled at the schoolhouse and 
strolled idly about the banks of the brook ; but no school- 

25 master. Hans Van Ripper now began to feel some un- 
easiness about the fate of poor Ichabod and his saddle. 
An inquiry was set on foot, and after diligent investiga- 
tion they came upon his traces. In one part of the road 
leading to the church was found the saddle trampled in 

30 the dirt; the tracks of horses' hoofs deeply dented in the 
road, and evidently at furious speed, were traced to the 
bridge, beyond which, on the bank of a broad part of the 
brook, where the water ran deep and black, was found 
the hat of the unfortunate Ichabod, and close beside it a 

35 shattered pumpkin. 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 35 

The brook was searched, but the body of the school- 
master was not to be discovered. Hans Van Ripper, as 
executor of his estate, examined the bundle which con- 
tained all his worldly effects. They consisted of two 
5 shirts and a half; two stocks for the neck; a pair or two of 
worsted stockings; an old pair of corduroy small- 
clothes; a rusty razor; a book of psalm tunes, full of dog's 
ears; and a broken pitch pipe. As to the books and fur- 
niture of the schoolhouse they belonged to the com- 

10 munity, excepting Cotton Mather's "History of Witch- 
craft," a New England Almanac, and a book of dreams 
and fortune-telling; in which last was a sheet of foolscap 
much scribbled and blotted in several fruitless attempts 
to make a copy of verses in honor of the heiress of Van 

15 Tassel. These magic books and the poetic scrawl were 
forthwith consigned to the flames by Hans Van Ripper ; 
who from that time forward determined to send his chil- 
dren no more to school; observing that he never knew 
any good come of this same reading and writing. What- 

20 ever money the schoolmaster possessed, and he had re- 
ceived his quarter's pay but a day or two before, he must 
have had about his person at the time of his disappear- 
ance. 

The mysterious event caused much speculation at the 

25 church on the following Sunday. Knots of gazers and 
gossips were collected in the churchyard, at the bridge, 
and at the spot where the hat and pumpkin had been 
found. The stories of Brouwer, of Bones, and a whole 
budget of others, were called to mind; and when they had 

30 diligently considered them all, and compared them with 
the symptoms of the present case, they shook their heads, 
and came to the conclusion that Ichabod had been car- 
ried off by the Galloping Hessian. As he was a bachelor, 
and in nobody's debt, nobody troubled his head any more 

35 about him. The school was removed to a different quarter 



36 Readings in Literature 

of the Hollow and another pedagogue reigned in his 
stead. 

It is true, an old farmer, who had been down to New 
York on a visit several years after, and from whom this 
5 account of the ghostly adventure was received, brought 
home the intelligence that Ichabod Crane w^as still alive ; 
that he had left the neighborhood, partly through fear of 
the goblin and Hans Van Ripper, and partly in mortifica- 
tion at having been suddenly dismissed by the heiress; 

10 that he had changed his quarters to a distant part of the 
country; had kept school and studied law at the same 
time; had been admitted to the bar; turned politician; 
electioneered ; written for the newspapers, and finally had 
been made a Justice of the Ten Pound Court. Brom 

15 Bones too, who shortly after his rival's disappearance 
conducted the blooming Katrina in triumph to the altar, 
was observed to look exceedingly knowing whenever the 
story of Ichabod was related, and always burst into a 
hearty laugh at the mention of the pumpkin; which led 

20 some to suspect that he knew more about the matter 
than he chose to tell. 

The old country wives, however, who are the best 
judges of these matters, maintain to this day that Icha- 
bod was spirited away by supernatural means ; and it is 

25 a favorite story often told about the neighborhood round 
the winter evening fire. The bridge became more than 
ever an object of superstitious awe, and that may be the 
reason why the road has been altered of late years, so as 
to approach the church by the border of the mill pond. 

30 The schoolhouse being deserted, soon fell to decay, and 
was reported to be haunted by the ghost of the unfortu- 
nate pedagogue, and the plough boy, loitering homeward 
of a still summer evening, has often fancied his voice at a 
distance, chanting a melancholy psalm tune among the 

35 tranquil solitudes of Sleepy Hollow. 



The Legend of Sleepy Hollow 



37 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

In writings classed as narration, the action usually begins promptly 
and moves along to a climax which, as a rule, is near the end of the 
story. In regard to the action of the piece, the narrator may leave 
himself open to criticism in three ways : first, he may be slow in begin- 
ning it; second, he may turn aside from his story to tell of other matters; 
third, he may be slow in ending it, i.e., he may tag on unnecessary 
material after the climax has been reached. 



1. Where does the action of 

this story begin? 

2. Specify the topics touched 

upon before Irving com- 
mences the story prop- 
er. 

3. a. In the opening description 

of the scene of the story, 
what characteristics are 
made prominent? 
b. What bearing has this de- 
scription on the story 
that follows? 

4. What characters does the 

author describe? 

5. a. Who is the chief character 

of the tale? 

b. Mention some of the traits 

of character brought out 
in this person. 

c. Why does the author make 

him so contemptible? 

6. a. Name the important traits 

of character portrayed in 
the other two persons de- 
scribed. 
b. Show the bearing of those 
characteristics on the 
plot of the piece. 

7. a. In the paragraph begin- 

ning on page 4, line 22, 



9. a. 



10. 



11. 



12. 



13. 



14. 



pick out the metaphors 
and similes used. 

What is the effect of these 
figiu-es? 

Trace briefly the action of 
the story. 

Describe in your own words 
the schoolhouse at Sleepy 
Hollow. 

Point out the elements of 
humor in Irving's de- 
scription of it. 

Page 5, line 20, why does 
the author speak of the 
tree as a formidable 
birch? 

In the paragraph beginning 
on page 29, line 13, the 
author wishes us to feel 
the loneliness of the scene ; 
how does he gain the de- 
sired effect? 

Point out the paragraph 
that contains the climax 
of the story. 

Why are the paragraphs 
that follow, necessary? 

Summarize the author's 
method of telling this 
story, in regard to the 
action of it and the 
humor of it. 



38 



Readings in Literature 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 3, line 6 — "nightmare, with 
her whole ninefold": the night- 
mare's ninefold are her nine 
imps or attendant spirits; the 
quotation is from King Lear, 
Act III, sc. IV (Shakespeare). 

Page 8, line 13 — "gazette" — a 
newspaper, a printed sheet pub- 
Hshed periodically. 

Page 8, Hne 18— "Cotton Math- 
er" — a Pm*itan preacher and 
writer, born in 1663 and died in 
1728. He was the author of 
many books, including "Mem- 
orable Providences relating to 
Witchcraft and Possession." 
He was active in the persecu- 
tion of the so-called witches of 
Salem. 

Page 9, Hne 10 — "witch's token" 
— ^this was supposed to be some 
visible sign by which a person 
knew he was under the power 
of a witch. 

Page 11, Hne 4 — "Saardam" — a 
small town in HoUand. 

15, line 6—" Tartar "— 
the Tartars were the inhabi- 
tants of Tartary, at one time 
an important province in Asia. 
They were noted for their 
horsemanship. 



Page 15, line 26—" Don Cossacks" 
— a branch of the Cossack 
people, inhabitating the country 
near the River Don. They were 
daring and splendid horsemen. 

Page 15, Hne 34 — "rantipole 
hero"; wild, reckless; a madcap. 
A nickname given to Emperor 
Napoleon III. 

Page 19, line 5 — " Mercury "^ 
in Roman mythology, the mes- 
senger of the gods. UsuaUy 
represented with wings on his 
heels that he might travel 
swiftly through space. 

Page 24, Hne 35— "St. Vitus"— 
sometimes called the patron 
saint of the dance. He was 
supposed to have control over 
the nervous and hysterical af- 
fections. 

Page 28, Hne 29— " tete-a-tete "— 
a confidential talk. Literally 
translated, it means, "head-to- 
head." 

Page 29, line 13 — "the very witch- 
ing time of night" — expression 
used by Shakespeare in Hamlet, 
Act III, sc. II. 

Page 36, Hne 14— "Ten Pound 
Court" — a court in which cases, 
involving not more than ten 
pounds (about $50), were tried. 



Suggestions for Home Reading of Books from the Public 
liibrary or Class Library- 



Dickens' "The Signal Man"— a 
story in which the mysterious 
is treated of, but from a very 
different point of view from that 



employed by Irving in "The 
Legend of Sleepy Hollow." 
Twain's "A Dog's Tale" — an 
animal story of rare pathos. 



The Purloined Letter 39 

THE PURLOINED LETTER 

BY EDGAR ALLAN POE 

Edgar Allan Poe was born in Boston in 1809 and died in 
Baltimore in 1849. He is noted as a poet and a writer of tales. His 
life was a most unhappy one. Throughout its course, his lack of 
self-control and of any moral sense was the cause of misery and 
sorrow to himself and to all who loved him. Poe was left without 
father or mother when he was two years old and was adopted by a 
Mr. John Allan who provided for his education. Poe antagonized 
this kind friend by his ingratitude and his repeated follies. When 
Mr. Allan refused to aid him further, Poe turned to literary work 
as a means of hvelihood. He did a great deal of newspaper and 
magazine work. Most of his tales appeared first in periodicals. 
With the pubHcation of the poem, "The Raven," in 1845, Poe 
reached the summit of his success. 

"The Purloined Letter" is one of Poe's detective stories. 
Dupin, the solver of mysteries, appears in the other two tales of 
this type, "The Murders of Rue Morgue" and "The Mystery of 
Marie Roget." Poe's method of constructing these stories has been 
imitated by many of the present-day writers of stories of this kind. 

At Paris, just after dark one gusty evening in the 
autumn of 18 — , I was enjoying the twofold luxury of 
meditation and a meerschaum, in company with my friend, 
C. Auguste Dupin, in his little back library, or book-closet, 
5 No. 33 Rue Dunot. For one hour at least we had main- 
tained a profound silence; while each, to the casual ob- 
server, might have seemed intently and exclusively occu- 
pied with the curling eddies of smoke that oppressed the 
atmosphere of the chamber. For myself, however, I was 
10 mentally discussing certain topics which had formed mat- 
ter of conversation between us at an earlier period of the 
evening; I mean the affair of the Rue Morgue and the 
mystery attending the murder of Marie Roget. I looked 
upon it, therefore, as something of a coincidence, when the 



40 Readings in Literature 

door of our apartment was thrown open and admitted 

our old acquaintance, Monsieur G , the Prefect of the 

Parisian pohce. 

We gave him a hearty welcome; for there was nearly 
5 half as much of the entertaining as of the contemptible 
about the man, and we had not seen him for several years. 
We had been sitting in the dark, and Dupin now arose for 
the purpose of lighting a lamp, but sat down again, with- 
out doing so, upon G 's saying that he had called to 

10 consult us, or rather to ask the opinion of my friend, 
about some official business which had occasioned a 
great deal of trouble. 

'^If it is any point requiring reflection," observed 
Dupin, as he forbore to enkindle the wick, ''we shall 

15 examine it to better purpose in the dark." 

''That is another of your odd notions," said the Pre- 
fect, who had the fashion of calling everything "odd" 
that was beyond his comprehension, and thus lived amid 
an absolute legion of "oddities." 

20 "Very true," said Dupin, as he supplied his visi- 
tor with a pipe and rolled toward him a comfortable 
chair. 

"And what is the difficulty now?" I asked. "Noth- 
ing more in the assassination way, I hope?" 

25 "Oh, no; nothing of that nature. The fact is, the 
business is very simple indeed, and I make no doubt that 
we can manage it sufficiently well ourselves ; but then I 
thought Dupin would like to hear the details of it, because 
it is so excessively odd." 

30 "Simple and odd?" said Dupin. 

"Why, yes; and not that exactly either. The fact is, 
we have all been a good deal puzzled because the affair 
is so simple, and yet baffles us altogether." 

"Perhaps it is the very simplicity of the thing which 

35 puts you at fault," said my friend. 



The Purloined Letter 41 

''What nonsense you do talk!" replied the Prefect, 
laughing heartily. 

"Perhaps the mystery is a little too plain," said 
Dupin. 
5 "Oh, good heavens! who ever heard of such an idea?" 

"A little too self-evident." 

"Ha! ha! ha! — ha! ha! ha! — ho! ho! ho!" roared our 
visitor, profoundly amused. "Oh, Dupin, you will be 
the death of me yet!" 
10 "And what, after all, is the matter on hand? " I asked. 

"Why I mil tell you," replied the Prefect, as he gave 
a long, steady, and contemplative puff and settled him- 
self in his chair — "I will tell you in a few words; but, be- 
fore I begin, let me caution you that this is an affair 
15 demanding the greatest secrecy, and that I should most 
probably lose the position I now hold were it known that 
I confided it to any one." 

"Proceed," said I. 

"Or not," said Dupin. 
20 "Well, then; I have received personal information, 
from a very high quarter, that a certain document of the 
last importance has been purloined from the royal apart- 
ments. The individual who purloined it is known — this 
beyond a doubt; he was seen to take it. It is known, 
25 also, that it still remains in his possession." 

"How is this known?" asked Dupin. 

"It is clearly inferred," replied the Prefect, "from 
the nature of the document and from the non-appearance 
of certain results which would at once arise from its 
30 passing out of the robber's possession, that is to say, from 
his employing it as he must design in the end to employ 
it." 

"Be a little more explicit," I said. 

"Well, I may venture so far as to say that the paper 
35 gives its holder a certain power in a certain quarter 



42 Readings in Literature 

where such power is immensely valuable." The Prefect 
was fond of the cant of diplomacy. 

''Still I do not quite understand," said Dupin. 
'' No? Well ; the disclosure of the document to a third 
5 person, who shall be nameless, would bring in question 
the honor of a personage of most exalted station; and this 
fact gives the holder of the document an ascendency over 
the illustrious personage whose honor and peace are so 
jeopardized." 

10 ''But this ascendency," I interposed, "would depend 
upon the robber's knowledge of the loser's knowledge of 

the robber. Who would dare " 

"The thief," said G , "is the minister D , who 

dares all things, those unbecoming as well as those be- 

15 coming a man. The method of the theft was not less 
ingenious than bold. The document in question, — a let- 
ter, to be frank, — had been received by the personage 
robbed while alone in the royal boudoir. During its 
perusal she was suddenly interrupted by the entrance of 

20 the other exalted personage from whom especially it was 
her wish to conceal it. After a hurried and vain en- 
deavor to thrust it in a drawer, she was forced to place it, 
open as it waS; upon a table. The address, however, was 
uppermost, and, the contents thus unexposed, the letter 

25 escaped notice. At this juncture enters the minister 

D . His lynx eye immediately perceives the paper, 

recognizes the handwriting of the address, observes the 
confusion of the personage addressed, and fathoms her 
secret. After some business transactions hurried through 

30 in his ordinary manner, he produces a letter somewhat 
similar to the one in question, opens it, pretends to read 
it, then places it in close juxtaposition to the other. 
Again he converses for some fifteen minutes upon the 
public affairs. At length, in taking leave, he takes also 

35 from the table the letter to which he had no claim. Its 



The Purloined Letter 43 

rightful owner saw, but, of course, dared not call atten- 
tion to the act, in the presence of the third personage, 
who stood at her elbow. The minister decamped, leav- 
ing his own letter, one of no importance, upon the table." 
5 "Here, then," said Dupin to me, "you have pre- 
cisely what you demand to make the ascendency 
complete, the robber's knowledge of the loser's 
knowledge of the robber." 

''Yes," repUed the Prefect; "and the power thus at- 

10 tained has, for some months past, been wielded, for politi- 
cal purposes, to a very dangerous extent. The personage 
robbed is more thoroughly convinced every day of the 
necessity of reclaiming her letter. But this, of course, 
cannot be done openly. In fine, driven to despair, she 

15 has committed the matter to me." 

''Than whom," said Dupin, amid a perfect whirlwind 
of smoke, "no more sagacious agent could, I suppose, be 
desired or even imagined." 

"You flatter me," replied the Prefect; "but it is pos- 

20 sible that some such opinion may have been entertained." 
"It is clear," said I, "as you observe, that the letter is 
still in the possession of the minister; since it is this pos- 
session, and not any employment of the letter, which be- 
stows the power. With the employment the power de- 

25 parts." 

"True," said G ; "and upon this conviction I 

proceeded. My first care was to make thorough search 
of the minister's hotel ; and here my chief embarrassment 
lay in the necessity of searching without his knowledge. 

30 Beyond all things, I have been warned of the danger which 
would result from giving him reason to suspect our de- 
sign." 

"But," said I, "you are quite aufait in these investi- 
gations. The Parisian police have done this thing often 

35 before." 



44 Readings in Literature 

''Oh, yes; and for this reason I did not despair. The 
habits of the minister gave me, too, a great advantage. 
He is frequently absent from home all night. His ser- 
vants are by no means numerous. They sleep at a dis- 
5 tance from their master's apartment, and, being chiefly 
Neapolitans, are readily made drunk. I have keys, as 
you know, with which I can open any chamber or cabinet 
in Paris. For three months a night has not passed, dur- 
ing the greater part of which I have not been engaged, 

10 personally, in ransacking the D Hotel. My honor 

is interested, and, to mention a great secret, the reward is 
enormous. So I did not abandon the search until I had 
become fully satisfied that the thief is a more astute man 
than myself. I fancy that I have investigated every 
15 nook and corner of the premises in which it is possible 
that the paper can be concealed." 

''But is it not possible," I suggested, "that although 
the letter may be in possession of the minister, as it un- 
questionably is, he may have concealed it elsewhere than 
20 upon his own premises?" 

"This is barely possible," said Dupin. "The present 
peculiar condition of affairs at court, and especially of 

those intrigues in which D is known to be involved, 

would render the instant availability of the document, 
25 its susceptibility of being produced at a moment's notice, 
a point of nearly equal importance with its possession." 

"Its susceptibility of being produced?" said I. 

"That is to say, of being destroyed," said Dupin. 

"True," I observed. "The paper is clearly, then, 

30 upon the premises. As for its being upon the person of 

the minister, we may consider that as out of the question.'^ 

"Entirely," said the Prefect. "He has been twice 
waylaid, as if by footpads, and his person rigidly searched 
under my own inspection." 
35 "You might have spared yourself this trouble," said 



The Purloined Letter 45 

Dupin. "D , I presume, is not altogether a fool, and, 

if not, must have anticipated these waylayings, as a mat- 
ter of course." 

"Not altogether a fool," said G , ''but then he is 

5 a poet, which I take to be only one remove from a fool." 

"True," said Dupin, after a long and thoughtful whiff 
from his meerschaum, "although I have been guilty of 
certain doggerel myself." 

"Suppose you detail," said I, "the particulars of your 
10 search." 

"Why, the fact is, we took our time, and we searched 

everywhere. I have had long experience in these affairs. 

I took the entire building, room by room; devoting the 

nights of a whole week to each. We examined, first, the 

15 furniture of each apartment. We opened every possible 

drawer; and I presume you know that, to a properly 

trained police-agent, such a thing as a 'secret' drawer is 

impossible. Any man is a dolt who permits a 'secret' 

drawer to escape him in a search of this kind. The 

20 thing is so plain. There is a certain amount of bulk, of 

space, to be accounted for in every cabinet. Then we 

have accurate rules. The fiftieth part of a line could not 

escape us. After the cabinets we took the chairs. The 

cushions we probed with the fine long needles you have 

25 seen me employ. From the tables we removed the tops." 

"Why so?" 

"Sometimes the top of a table or other similarly 
arranged piece of furniture is removed by the person 
wishing to conceal an article; then the leg is excavated, 
30 the article deposited within the cavity, and the top re- 
placed. The bottoms and tops of bedposts are employed 
in the same way." 

"But could not the cavity be detected by sounding?" 
I asked. 
35 "By no means if, when the article is deposited, a 



46 Readings in Literature 

sufficient wadding of cotton be placed around it. Besides, 
in our case, we were obliged to proceed without noise." 
"But you could not have removed, you could not 
have taken to pieces all articles of furniture in which it 
5 would have been possible to make a deposit in the man- 
ner you mention. A letter may be compressed into a 
thin spiral roll, not differing much in shape or bulk from 
a large knitting needle, and in this form it might be 
inserted into the rung of a chair, for example. You did 

10 not take to pieces all the chairs?" 

"Certainly not, but we did better: we examined the 
rimgs of every chair in the hotel, and, indeed, the joint- 
ings of every description of furniture, by the aid of a most 
powerful microscope. Had there been any traces of 

15 recent disturbance we should not have failed to detect it 
instantly. A single grain of gimlet-dust, for example, 
would have been as obvious as an apple. Any disorder 
in the gluing, any unusual gaping in the joints, would 
have sufficed to insure detection." 

20 "I presume you looked to the mirrors, between the 
boards and the plates, and you probed the bed and the 
bedclothes, as well as the curtains and carpets." 

"That of course; and when we had absolutely com- 
pleted every particle of the furniture in this way, then we 

25 examined the house itself. We divided its entire surface 
into compartments, which we numbered, so that none 
might be missed. Then we scrutinized each individual 
square inch throughout the premises, including the two 
houses immediately adjoining, with the microscope, as 

30 before." 

"The two houses adjoining!" I exclaimed; "you must 
have had a great deal of trouble." 

"We had; but the reward offered is prodigious." 
"You include the grounds about the houses?" 

35 "All the grounds are paved with brick. They gave us 



The Purloined Letter 47 

comparatively little trouble. We examined the moss 
between the bricks and found it undisturbed." 

*'You looked among D 's papers, of course, and 

into the books of the library?" 
5 "Certainly; we opened every package and parcel; we 
not only opened every book, but we turned over every 
leaf in each volume, not contenting ourselves with a mere 
shake, according to the fashion of some of our police 
officers. We also measured the thickness of every book- 
10 cover with the most accurate admeasurement, and applied 
to each the most jealous scrutiny of the microscope. Had 
any of the bindings been recently meddled with, it would 
have been utterly impossible that the fact should have 
escaped observation. Some five or six volumes, just from 
15 the hands of the binder, we carefully probed, longitudi- 
nally, with the needles." 

''You explored the floors beneath the carpets?" 

"Beyond doubt. We removed every carpet and ex- 
amined the boards with a microscope." 
20 " And the paper on the walls? " 

"Yes." 

"You looked into the cellars?" 

"We did." 

"Then," I said, "you have been making a miscalcula- 
25 tion, and the letter is not upon the premises, as you 
suppose." 

"I fear you are right there," said the Prefect. "And 
now, Dupin, what would you advise me to do?" 

"To make a thorough research of the premises." 

30 "That is absolutely needless," replied G . "lam 

not more sure that I breathe than I am that the letter is 
not at the hotel." 

"I have no better advice to give you," said Dupin. 
"You have, of course, an accurate description of the 
35 letter?" 



48 Readings in Literature 

'^Oh, yes!'^ and here the Prefect, producing a memo- 
randum-book, proceeded to read aloud a minute account 
of the internal, and especiallj" of the external, appearance 
of the missing document. Soon after finishing the peru- 
5 sal of this description he took his departure, more entirely 
depressed in spirits than I had ever knoT\TL the good 
gentleman before. 

In about a month afterward he paid us another visit, 
and found us occupied very nearly as before. He took 
10 a pipe and a chair and entered into some ordinary con- 
versation. At length I said : 

''Well, but, G , what of the purloined letter? I 

presume you have at last made up your mind that there 
is no such thing as overreaching the Minister?" 
15 ''Confound him! say I — yes; I made the re-examina- 
tion, however, as Dupin suggested, but it was all labor 
lost, as I knew it would be." 

"How much was the reward offered, did you say," 
asked Dupin. 
20 "Why, a very great deal, a very liberal reward; I 
don't like to say how much, precisely; but one thing I 
will say, — that I wouldn't mind giving my individual check 
for fifty thousand francs to any one who could obtain 
me that letter. The fact is, it is becoming of more and 
25 more importance every day; and the reward has been 
lately doubled. If it were trebled, however, I could do 
no more than I have done." 

"Why, yes," said Dupin, drawlingly, between the 

whiffs of his meerschaum, "I really — think, G , 

30 you have not exerted yourself — to the utmost in this 
matter. You might — do a little more, I think, eh? " 

"How? In what way?" 

"Why — puff, puff — you might — puff, puff — em- 
ploy counsel in the matter, eh? — puff, puff, puff. Do you 
35 remember the story of Abemethy? " 



The Purloined Letter 49 

'' No ; hang Abernethy ! " 

"To be sure! hang him and welcome. But, once upon 
a time, a certain rich miser conceived the design of 
sponging upon this Abernethy for a medical opinion. 
5 Getting up, for this purpose, an ordinary conversation in 
a private company, he insinuated his case to the physician 
as that of an imaginary individual. 

'' ' We will suppose,' said the miser, Hhat his symptoms 
are such and such; now, Doctor, what would you have 
10 directed him to take? ' 

'''Take!' said Abernethy, 'why, take advice, to be 
sure!'" 

"But," said the Prefect, a little discomposed, "I am 
perfectly willing to take advice and to pay for it. I 
15 would really give fifty thousand francs to any one who 
would aid me in the matter." 

"In that case," replied Dupin, opening a drawer and 
producing a check-book, "you may as well fill me up a 
check for the amount mentioned. When you have 
20 signed it I will hand you the letter." 

I was astounded. The Prefect appeared absolutely 
thunderstricken. For some minutes he remained speech- 
less and motionless, looking incredulously at my friend 
with open mouth, and eyes that seemed starting from 
25 their sockets; then, apparently recovering himself in some 
measure, he seized a pen, and after several pauses and 
vacant stares finally filled up and signed a check for fifty 
thousand francs and handed it across the table to Dupin. 
The latter examined it carefully and deposited it in his 
30 pocket book; then, unlocking an escritoire, took thence a 
letter and gave it to the Prefect. This functionary 
grasped it in a perfect agony of joy, opened it with a 
trembling hand, cast a rapid glance at its contents, and 
then, scrambling and struggling to the door, rushed at 
35 length unceremoniously from the room and from the 



50 Readings in Literature 

house without having uttered a sjdlable since Dupin had 
requested him to fill up the check. 

When he had gone, my friend entered into some ex- 
planations. 
5 ''The Parisian police," he said, ''are exceedingly able 
in their way. They are persevering, ingenious, cunning, 
and thoroughly versed in the knowledge which their 
duties seem chiefly to demand. Thus, when G de- 
tailed to us his mode of searching the premises at the 

10 Hotel D , I felt entire confidence in his having made 

a satisfactory investigation, so far as his labors extended." 
'''So far as his labors extended'?" said I. 
" Yes," said Dupin. " The measures adopted were not 
only the best of their kind, but carried out to absolute 

15 perfection. Had the letter been deposited -^ivithin the 
range of their search, these fellows would, beyond a ques- 
tion, have found it." 

I merely laughed, but he seemed quite serious in all 
that he said. 

20 "The measures then," he continued, "were good in 
their kind and well executed ; their defect lay in their being 
inapplicable to the case and to the man. A certain set 
of highly ingenious resources are, with the Prefect, a 
sort of Procrustean bed, to which he forcibly adapts his 

25 designs. But he perpetually errs by being too deep or too 
shallow for the matter in hand ; and many a schoolboy is 
a better reasoner than he. I knew one about eight years 
of age, whose success at guessing in the game of ' even and 
odd' attracted universal admiration. This game is sim- 

30 pie, and is played A^dth marbles. One player holds in his 
hand a number of these toys and demands of another 
whether that number is even or odd. If the guess is 
right, the guesser ^\'ins one; if ^vrong, he loses one. The 
boy to whom I allude won all the marbles of the school. 

35 Of course he had some principle of guessing; and this lay 



The Purloined Letter 51 

in mere observation and admeasurement of the astuteness 
of his opponents. For example, an errant simpleton is 
his opponent, and, holding up his closed hand, asks, 'Are 
they even or odd?' Our schoolboy replies, 'Odd,' and 
5 loses; but upon the second trial he wins, for he then says 
to himself : ' The simpleton had them even upon the first 
trial, and his amount of cunning is just sufficient to make 
him have them odd upon the second; I will therefore 
guess odd,' he guesses odd and wins. Now, with a sim- 

10 pleton a degree above the first, he would have reasoned 
thus : ' This fellow finds that in the first instance I guessed 
odd, and in the second he wall propose to himself, upon 
the first impulse, a simple variation from even to odd, as 
did the first simpleton; but then a second thought will 

15 suggest that this is too simple a variation, and finally he 
will decide upon putting it even as before. I will there- 
fore guess even;' — he guesses even and wins. Now this 
mode of reasoning in the schoolboy, whom his fellows 
termed 'lucky' — what, in its last analysis, is it?" 

20 "It is merely," I said, "an identification of the rea- 
soner's intellect with that of his opponent." 

"It is," said Dupin; "and upon inquiring of the boy 
by what means he effected the thorough identification in 
which his success consisted, I received answer as follows: 

25 ' When I wish to find out how wise, or how stupid, or how 
good, or how wicked is any one, or what are his thoughts 
at the moment, I fashion the expression of my face, as 
accurately as possible, in accordance with the expression 
of his and then wait to see what thoughts or sentiments 

30 arise in my mind or heart, as if to match or correspond 
with the expression.' This response of the schoolboy lies 
at the bottom of all the spurious profundity which has 
been attributed to Rochefoucauld, to La Bruyere, to 
Machiavelli, and to Campanella." 

35 "And the identification," I said, "of the reasoner's 



52 Readings in Literature 

intellect with that of his opponent depends, if I under- 
stand you aright, upon the accuracy with which the 
opponent's intellect is admeasured." 

''For its practical value it depends upon this," replied 
5 Dupin; ''and the Prefect and his cohort fail so frequently, 
first, by default of this identification, and, secondly, by ill- 
admeasurement, or rather through non-admeasurement, 
of the intellect with which they are engaged. They con- 
sider only their own ideas of ingenuity; and, in searching 

10 for anything hidden, advert only to the modes in which 
they would have hidden it. They are right in this much, 
that their own ingenuity is a faithful representative of 
that of the mass; but when the cunning of the individual 
felon is diverse in character from their own the felon 

15 foils them, of course. This always happens when it is 
above their own, and very usually when it is below. 
They have no variation of principle in their investigations; 
at best, when urged by some unusual emergency, by some 
extraordinary reward, they extend or exaggerate their old 

20 modes of practice without touching their principles. 

What, for example, in this case of D , has been done 

to vary the principle of action? What is all this boring, 
and probing, and sounding, and scrutinizing with the mi- 
croscope, and dividing the surface of the building into 

25 square inches; what is it all but an exaggeration of the 
application of the one principle or set of principles of 
search, which are based upon the one set of notions re- 
garding human ingenuity, to which the Prefect, in the 
long routine of his duty, has been accustomed? Do you 

30 not see he has taken it for granted that all men proceed 
to conceal a letter, not exactly in a gimlet-hole bored in a 
chair-leg, but, at least in some out-of-the-way hole or 
corner suggested by the same tenor of thought which 
would urge a man to secrete a letter in a gimlet-hole bored 

35 in a chair-leg? And do you not see, also, that such re- 



The Purloined Letter 53 

cherches nooks for concealment are adapted only for ordi- 
nary occasions, and would be adopted only by ordinary 
intellects; for, in all cases of concealment, a disposal of 
the article concealed, a disposal of it in this recherche 
5 manner, is, in the very first instance, presumable and pre- 
sumed; and thus its discovery depends, not at all upon the 
acumen, but altogether upon the mere care, patience and 
determination of the seekers; and where the case is of 
importance, or, what amounts to the same thing in the 

10 policial eyes, when the reward is of magnitude, the quali- 
ties in question have never been kno^vn to fail. You will 
now understand what I meant in suggesting that, had 
the purloined letter been hidden anywhere within the 
limits of the Prefect's examination, — in other words, had 

15 the principle of its concealment been comprehended with- 
in the principles of the Prefect, — its discovery would have 
been a matter altogether beyond question. This func- 
tionary, however, has been thoroughly mystified; and the 
remote source of his defeat lies in the supposition that 

20 the minister is a fool, because he has acquired renown as 
a poet. All fools are poets ; this the Prefect feels; and he is 
merely guilty of a non distrihutio medii in thence inferring 
that all poets are fools." 

''But is this really the poet?" I asked. ''There are 

25 two brothers, I know; and both have attained reputation 
in letters. The minister, I believe, has written learnedly 
on the Differential Calculus. He is a mathematician and 
no poet." 

"You* are mistaken; I know him well; he is both. 

30 As poet and mathematician, he would reason well; as mere 
mathematician, he could not have reasoned at all, and 
thus would have been at the mercy of the Prefect." 

"You surprise me," I said, "by these opinions, which 
have been contradicted by the voice of the world. You 

35 do not mean to set at naught the well-digested idea of 



54 Readings in Literature 

centuries? The mathematical reason has long been re- 
garded as the reason par excellence.^' 

''The mathematicians, I grant you, have done their 
best to promulgate the popular error to which you allude, 
5 and which is none the less an ecror for its promulgation as 
truth/' 

''I mean to say," continued Dupin, while I merely 
laughed at his last observations, ''that if the minister had 
been no more than a mathematician, the Prefect would 

10 have been under no necessity of giving me this check. I 
knew him, however, as both mathematician and poet, and 
my measures were adapted to his capacity with reference 
to the circumstances by which he was surrounded. I 
knew him as a courtier, too, and as a bold intriguant, 

15 Such a man, I considered, could not fail to be aware of the 
ordinary poKcial modes of action. He could not have 
failed to anticipate — and events have proved that he did 
not fail to anticipate — the waylayings to which he was 
subjected. He must have foreseen, I reflected, the secret 

20 investigations of his premises. His frequent absences 
from home at night, which were hailed by the Prefect as 
certain aids to his success, I regarded only as ruses to 
afford opportunity for thorough search to the police, and 
thus the sooner to impress them with the conviction, to 

25 which G , in fact, did finally arrive, — the conviction 

that the letter was not upon the premises. I felt, also, 
that the whole train of thought, which I was at some 
pains in detailing to you just now, concerning the invari- 
able principle of policial action in searches for articles 

30 concealed,— I felt that this whole train of thought would 
necessarily pass through the mind of the minister. It 
would imperatively lead him to despise all the ordinary 
nooks of concealment. He could not, I reflected, be so 
weak as not to see that the most intricate and remote 

35 recess of his hotel would be as open as his commonest 



The Purloined Letter 55 

closets to the eyes, to the probes, to the gimlets, and to 
the microscopes of the Prefect. I saw, in fine, that he 
would be driven, as a matter of course, to simplicity, if 
not deliberately induced to it as a matter of choice. You 
5 will remember, perhaps, how desperately the Prefect 
laughed when I suggested, upon our first interview, that 
it was just possible this mystery troubled him so much on 
account of its being so very self-evident." 

''Yes," said I, ''I remember his merriment well. I 

10 really thought he would have fallen into convulsions." 

''The material world," continued Dupin, "abounds 
with very strict analogies to the immaterial; and thus 
some color of truth has been given to the rhetorical 
dogma that metaphor, or simile, may be made to 

15 strengthen an argument as well as to embellish a de- 
scription. The principle of the vis inertice, for example, 
seems to be identical in physics and metaphysics. It is 
not more true in the former, that a large body is with 
more difficulty set in motion than a smaller one, and that 

20 its subsequent momentum is commensurate with this 
difficulty, than it is, in the latter, that intellects of the 
vaster capacity, while more forcible, more constant, and 
more eventful in their movements than those of inferior 
grade, are yet the less readily moved, and more em- 

25 barrassed, and full of hesitation in the first few steps of 
their progress. Again: have you ever noticed which of 
the street signs, over the shop doors, are the most attrac- 
tive of attention?" 

"I have never given the matter a thought," I said. 

30 "There is a game of puzzles," he resumed, "which is 
played upon a map. One party playing requires another 
to find a given word, the name of town, river, state or 
empire — any word, in short, upon the motley and per- 
plexed surface of the chart. A novice in the game gen- 

35 erally seeks to embarrass his opponents by giving them 



56 Readings in Literature 

the most minutely lettered names; but the adept selects 
such words as stretch, in large characters, from one end 
of the chart to the other. These, like the over-largely 
lettered signs and placards of the street, escape observa- 
5 tion by dint of being excessively obvious; and here the 
physical oversight is precisely analogous with the moral 
inapprehension by which the intellect suffers to pass un- 
noticed those considerations which are too obtrusivety 
and too palpably self-evident. But this is a point, it ap- 

10 pears, somewhat above or beneath the understanding of the 
Prefect. He never once thought it probable, or possible, 
that the minister had deposited the letter immediately 
beneath the nose of the whole world by way of best pre- 
venting any portion of that world from perceiving it. 

15 ''But the more I reflected upon the daring, dashing, 

and discriminating ingenuity of D ; upon the fact 

that the document must always have been at hand, if he 
intended to use it to good purpose; and upon the decisive 
evidence, obtained by the Prefect, that it was not bidden 

20 within the limits of that dignitary's ordinary search, the 
more satisfied I became that, to conceal this letter, the 
minister had resorted to the comprehensive and sagacious 
expedient of not attempting to conceal it at all. 

''Full of these ideas, I prepared myself with a pair of 

25 green spectacles, and called one fine morning, quite by 

accident, at the ministerial hotel. I found D at 

home, yawning, lounging, and dawdling, as usual, and 
pretending to be in the last extremity of ennui. He is, 
perhaps, the most really energetic human being now 

30 alive; but that is only when nobody sees him. 

"To be even with him, I complained of my weak eyes, 
and lamented the necessity of the spectacles, under cover 
of which I cautiously and thoroughly surveyed the whole 
apartment, while seemingly intent only upon the conver- 

35 sation of my host. 



The Purloined Letter 57 

" I paid especial attention to a large writing-table near 
which he sat, and upon which lay confusedly some mis- 
cellaneous letters and other papers, with one or two musi- 
cal instruments and a few books. Here, however, after 
5 a long and very deliberate scrutiny, I saw nothing to 
excite particular suspicion. 

'^At length my eyes, in going the circuit of the room, 
fell upon a trumpery filigree card-rack of pasteboard, that 
hung dangling by a dirty blue ribbon from a little brass 

10 knob just beneath the middle of the mantelpiece. In 
this rack, which had three or four compartments, were 
five or six visiting-cards and a solitary letter. This last 
was much soiled and crumpled. It was torn nearly in 
two, across the middle, as if a design, in the first instance, 

15 to tear it entirely up as worthless, had been altered, or 
stayed, in the second. It had a large black seal, bearing 

the D cipher very conspicuously, and was addressed, 

in a diminutive female hand, to D , the minister, 

himself. It was thrust carelessly, and even, as it seemed, 

20 contemptuously, into one of the uppermost divisions of 
the rack. 

*'No sooner had I glanced at this letter than I con- 
cluded it to be that of which I was in search. To be 
sure, it was, to all appearance, radically different from the 

25 one of which the Prefect had read us so minute a descrip- 
tion. Here the seal was large and black, with the D 

cipher; there it was small and red, with the ducal arms 

of the S family. Here, the address, to the minister, 

was diminutive and feminine; there the superscription, to 

30 a certain royal personage, was markedly bold and de- 
cided; the size alone formed a point of correspondence. 
But, then, the radicalness of these differences, which was 
excessive: the dirt; the soiled and torn condition of the 
paper, so inconsistent with the true methodical habits 

35 of D , and so suggestive of a design to delude the be- 



58 Readings in Literature 

holder into an idea of the worthlessness of the docu- 
ment, — these things, together with the hyperobtrusive 
situation of this document, full in the view of every 
visitor, and thus exactly in accordance with the conclu- 
5 sions to which I had previously arrived; these things, I 
say, were strongly corroborative of suspicion, in one who 
came with the intention to suspect. 

'^I protracted my visit as long as possible, and, while 
I maintained a most animated discussion with the min- 

10 ister upon a topic which I knew well had never failed to 
interest and excite him, I kept my attention really riveted 
upon the letter. In this examination, I committed to 
memory its external appearance and arrangement in the 
rack; and also fell, at length, upon a discovery which set 

15 at rest whatever trivial doubt I might have entertained. 
In scrutinizing the edges of the paper, I observed them to 
be more chafed than seemed necessary. They presented 
the broken appearance which is manifested when a stiff 
paper, having been once folded and pressed with a folder, 

20 is refolded in a reversed direction, in the same creases or 
edges which had formed the original fold. This discovery 
was sufficient. It was clear to me that the letter had 
been turned, as a glove, inside out, redirected and re- 
sealed. I bade the minister good-morning, and took my 

25 departure at once, leaving a gold snuff-box upon the table. 

'^The next morning I called for the snuff-box, when we 

resumed, quite eagerly, the conversation of the preceding 

day. While thus engaged, however, a loud report, as if of 

a pistol, was heard immediately beneath the windows of 

30 the hotel, and was succeeded by a series of fearful screams 

and the shoutings of a terrified mob. D rushed to a 

casement, threw it open, and looked out. In the mean- 
time I stepped to the card-rack, took the letter, put it in 
my pocket, and replaced it by a facsimile (so far as re- 

35 gards externals) which I had carefully prepared at my 



The Purloined Letter 59 

lodgings, imitating the D cipher very readily by 

means of a seal formed of bread. 

''The disturbance in the street had been occasioned by 
the frantic behavior of a man with a musket. He had 
5 fired it among a crowd of women and children. It 
proved, however, to have been without a ball, and the 
fellow was suffered to go his way as a lunatic or a drunk- 
ard. When he had gone, D came from the window, 

whither I had followed him immediately upon securing 

10 the object in view. Soon afterward I bade him farewell. 
The pretended lunatic was a man in my own pay." 

''But what purpose had you," I asked, "in replac- 
ing the letter by a facsimile? Would it not have been 
better, at the first visit, to have seized it openly and de- 

15 parted?" 

"D ," repUed Dupin, "is a desperate man, and a 

man of nerve. His hotel, too, is not without attendants 
devoted to his interests. Had I made the wild attempt 
you suggest I might never have left the ministerial pres- 

20 ence alive. The good people of Paris might have heard 
of me no more. But I had an object apart from these 
considerations. You know my political prepossessions. 
In this matter I act as a partisan of the lady concerned. 
For eighteen months the minister has had her in his 

25 power. She has now him in hers, since, being unaware 
that the letter is not in his possession, he will proceed 
with his exactions as if it was. Thus will he inevitably 
commit himself at once to his poHtical destruction. His 
downfall, too, will not be more precipitate than awkward. 

30 In the present instance I have no sympathy, at least no 
pity, for him who descends. He is that monstrum horren- 
dum, an unprincipled man of genius. I confess, how- 
ever, that I should like very well to know the precise 
character of his thoughts, when, being defied by her 

35 whom the Prefect terms 'a certain personage,^ he is re- 



60 



Readings in Literature 



duced to opening the letter which I left for him in the 
card-rack/' 

''How? Did you put anything particular in it?" 
''Why, it did not seem altogether right to leave the 

5 interior blank — that would have been insulting. D , 

at Vienna once, did me an evil turn, which I told him, 
quite good-humoredly, I should remember. So, as I 
knew he would feel some curiosity in regard to the identity 
of the person who had outwitted him, I thought it a pity 
10 not to give him a clew. He is well acquainted with my 
MS., and I just copied into the middle of the blank 
sheet the words: — 

' Un dessein si funestre, 



S'il n'est digne d'Atree, est digne de Thyeste/ 
15 They are to be found in Crebillon's 'Atree.'" 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

A narrative may be related by the writer in three different ways; 
first, he may tell the story in the first person as though the events had 
happened to himself; second, he may tell it from the point of view of 
an onlooker (this is a difficult method to handle, for the author must 
account for the narrator's abihty to know of all of the happenings); 
third, he may tell it in the third person, assuming that the writer is in a 
position to know all things. The last is the method most frequently 
adopted. 



1. Which of these methods has 

Poe used in this story? 

2. Which has been used in 

"The Legend of Sleepy 
HoUow"? 

3. a. What is the name of the 

character who teUs this 
story? 
b. Why is the fact that we 
really know nothing about 
this man, immaterial? 



4. a. Where does the action of 
this story begin? 

b. Compare the opening of this 

tale with the opening of 
"The Legend of Sleepy 
Hollow." 

c. Which of the two will be 

more apt to secure an im- 
mediate interest? 

d. Give reasons for your an- 

swer. 



The Purloined Letter 



61 



5. Compare the description of 

the characters in this story, 
with the description of 
those in "The Legend." 
Note in this selection: first, 
the lack of humor; second, 
the lack of figurative con- 
structions. 

6. See if you can explain why 

it is that the action of this 
story is rapid. 



7. a. Where does the climax of 

the story come? 

b. Point out the specific para- 

graph. 

c. Why is it not a fault, in this 

case, that the climax does 
not come near the end of 
the story? 

8. Summarize Poe's method of 

telling a story and con- 
trast it with Irving's. 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 48, line 35— " Abernethy "— 
John Abernethy, a celebrated 
English surgeon, was born in 
London in 1764. He was fa- 
mous as a lecturer and made 
many improvements in surgery. 
He was noted also for his 
shrewdness and wit. 

Page 50, Une 24 — ''Procrustean" 
— pertaining to Procrustes, 
a Greek highwayman who fitted 
his victims to an iron bed by 
stretching out or cutting off 
their legs as the case required. 

Page 51, fines 33 and 34— "Roche- 
foucauld" — a French writer and 
teacher. He was born in Paris 
in 1613 and is known in litera- 
ture through his maxims, his 
memoirs and his correspond- 
ence. 

"La Bruyere" — a French moral- 
ist. He was born in Paris in 
1645. He studied law and later 
held several diplomatic posi- 
tions. He was appointed tutor 
to the young Duke of Bour- 
bon. 

"Machiavelli" — a famous Italian 



statesman. He was born in 
Florence in 1469. His skill in 
foreign affairs caused him to be 
employed as minister at foreign 
courts. He was the author of 
several works on the subject of 
statesmanship. 

"Campanella" — a Dominican 
monk. He was born in Italy 
in 1568. He was a philosopher 
and a pioneer of modern 
thought. 

Page 53, line 22 — "non distributio 
medii ' ' — undistributed middle 
— a fallacy in logic. 

Page 54, fine 2 — "par excellence" 
— a partly naturafized phrase 
from the French, meaning 
through or by way of great 
merit or superiority. 

Page 55, line 16 — "vis inertiae" — 
a Latin term meaning the force 
of inertia. Inertia, in physics, 
is the resistance of matter to a 
change of state. 

Page 56, line 28 — " ennui " — a men- 
tal weariness produced by lack 
of interest. 



62 Readings in Literature 



Page 60, lines 13 and 14— These 
lines occur in Crebillon's "Atree 
et Thyeste," fourth scene of the 



fifth act. Look up the story of 
the two brothers in any classical 
dictionary. 



Suggestions for Home Reading 



Poe's "Gold Bug" — a tale of mys- 
tery in which the deciphering of 
a cryptogram plays an impor- 
tant part. 

Poe's "Murders in Rue Morgue" 



— introducing the great detec- 
tive, Dupin. 
Stevenson's "The New Arabian 
Nights" — tales of mystery, told 
in Stevenson's masterly fashion. 



DAVID SWAN 

BY NATHANIEL HAWTHORNE 

Nathaniel Hawthorne was born in Massachusetts in 1804 
and died in New Hampshire in 1864. He is generally conceded to 
be the greatest American novelist. He was a graduate of Bowdoin 
College. At various times during his life he held governmental 
positions but devoted most of his time to literary work. Probably 
the most widely read of his books is "The Scarlet Letter." 

The story given here is one of Hawthorne's ''Twice Told Tales." 
It is a splendid example of this writer's unity of structure and his 
purity of style. Notice in reading it, how smoothly the paragraphs 
have been formed and what a wonderful command of language the 
author has. 

We can be but partially acquainted even with the 
events which actually influence our course through life 
and our final destiny. There are innumerable other 
events, if such they may be called, which come close upon 
5 us, yet pass away without actual results or even betray- 
ing their near approach by the reflection of any light or 
shadow across our minds. Could we know all the vicis- 
situdes of our fortunes, life would be too full of hope and 
fear, exultation or disappointment, to afford us a single 
10 hour of true serenity. This idea may be illustrated by a 
page from the secret history of David Swan. 



David Swan 63 

We have nothing to do with David until we find him, 
at the age of twenty, on the high road from his native 
place to the city of Boston, where his uncle, a small dealer 
in the grocery line, was to take him behind the counter. 
5 Be it enough to say that he was a native of New Hamp- 
shire, born of respectable parents, and had received an 
ordinary school education with a classic finish by a year 
at Gilmanton Academy. After journeying on foot from 
sunrise till nearly noon of a summer's day, his weariness 

10 and the increasing heat determined him to sit down in 
the first convenient shade and await the coming up of the 
stage-coach. As if planted on purpose for him, there 
soon appeared a little tuft of maples with a delightful 
recess in the midst, and such a fresh, bubbling spring that 

15 it seemed never to have sparkled for any wayfarer but 
David Swan. Virgin or not, he kissed it with his thirsty 
lips and then flung himself along the brink, pillowing his 
head upon some shirts and a pair of pantaloons tied up 
in a striped cotton handkerchief. The sunbeams could 

20 not reach him; the dust did not yet rise from the road 
after the heavy rain of yesterday, and his grassy lair 
suited the young man better than a bed of down. The 
spring murmured drowsily beside him; the branches 
waved dreamily across the blue sky overhead, and a 

25 deep sleep, perchance hiding dreams within its depths, fell 
upon David Swan. But we are to relate events which he 
did not dream of. 

While he lay sound asleep in the shade other people 
were wide awake, and passed to and fro, afoot, on horse- 

30 back and in all sorts of vehicles, along the sunny road by 
his bedchamber. Some looked neither to the right hand 
nor the left and knew not that he was there ; some merely 
glanced that way without admitting the slumberer among 
their busy thoughts; some laughed to see how soundly he 

35 slept, and several whose hearts were brimming full of 



64 Readings in Literature 

scorn ejected their venomous superfluity on David Swan. 
A middle-aged widow, when nobody else was near, thrust 
her head a little way into the recess, and vowed that the 
young fellow looked charming in his sleep. A temperance 
5 lecturer saw him, and wrought poor David into the texture 
of his evening's discourse as an awful instance of dead 
drunkenness by the roadside. 

But censure, praise, merriment, scorn and indifference 
were all one — or, rather, all nothing — to David Swan. He 

10 had slept only a few moments when a brown carriage 
drawn by a handsome pair of horses bowled easily along 
and was brought to a standstill nearly in front of David's 
resting-place. A linch-pin had fallen out and permitted 
one of the wheels to slide off. The damage was slight 

15 and occasioned merely a momentary alarm to an elderly 
merchant and his wife, who were returning to Boston in 
the carriage. While the coachman and a servant were 
replacing the wheel the lady and gentleman sheltered 
themselves beneath the maple trees, and there espied the 

20 bubbling fountain and David Swan asleep beside it. 
Impressed with the awe which the humblest sleeper 
usually sheds around him, the merchant trod as lightly 
as the gout would allow, and his spouse took good heed 
not to rustle her silk gown lest David should start up all 

25 of a sudden. 

''How soundly he sleeps!" whispered the old gentle- 
man. ''From what a depth he draws that easy breath! 
Such sleep as that, brought on without an opiate, would 
be worth more to me than half my income, for it would 

30 suppose health and an untroubled mind." 

"And youth besides," said the lady. "Healthy and 
quiet age does not sleep thus. Our slumber is no more 
like his than our wakefulness." 

The longer they looked, the more did this elderly 

35 couple feel interested in the unknown youth to whom the 



David Swan 65 

wayside and the maple shade were as a secret chamber 
with the rich gloom of damask curtains brooding over 
him. Perceiving that a stray sunbeam glimmered down 
upon his face, the lady contrived to twist a branch aside 
5 so as to intercept it, and, having done this little act of 
kindness, she began to feel like a mother to him. 

''Providence seems to have laid him here," whispered 

she to her husband, "and to have brought us hither to 

find him, after our disappointment in our cousin's son. 

10 Met^inks I can see a likeness to our departed Henry. 

Shall we waken him?" 

"To what purpose?" said the merchant, hesitating. 
''We know nothing of the youth's character." 

"That open countenance!" replied his wife, in the 
15 same hushed voice, yet earnestly. " This innocent sleep ! " 

While these whispers were passing, the sleeper's heart 
did not throb, nor his breath become agitated, nor his 
features betray the least token of interest. Yet Fortune 
was bending over him just ready to let fall a burden of 
20 gold. The old merchant had lost his only son, and had 
no heir to his wealth except a distant relative with whose 
conduct he was dissatisfied. In such cases people some- 
times do stranger things than to act the magician and 
awaken a young man to splendor who fell asleep in 
25 poverty. 

"Shall we not waken him?" repeated the lady, per- 
suasively. 

"The coach is ready, sir," said the servant, behind. 

The old couple started, reddened and hurried away, 
30 mutually wondering that they should ever have dreamed 
of doing anything so very ridiculous. The merchant 
threw himself back in the carriage and occupied his mind 
with the plan of a magnificent asylum for unfortunate 
men of business. Meanwhile, David Swan enjoyed his 
35 nap. 



66 Readings in Literature 

The carriage could not have gone above a mile or two 
when a pretty young girl came along with a tripping pace 
which showed precisely how her little heart was dancing 
in her bosom. Perhaps it was this merry kind of motion 
5 that caused her garter to slip its knot. Conscious that 
the silken girth — if silk it were — was relaxing its hold, she 
turned aside into the shelter of the maple trees, and there 
found a young man asleep by the spring. Blushing as 
red as any rose that she should have intruded into a gen- 

10 tleman's bedchamber, and for such a purpose too, she 
was about to make her escape on tiptoe. But there was 
peril near the sleeper. A monster of a bee had been 
wandering overhead — buzz, buzz, buzz — now among the 
leaves, now flashing through the strips of sunshine, and 

15 now lost in the dark shade, till finally he appeared to be 
settling on the ej^elid of David Swan. The sting of a bee 
is sometimes deadly. As free-hearted as she was inno- 
cent, the girl attacked the intruder with her handkerchief, 
brushed him soundly and drove him from beneath the 

20 maple shade. How sweet a picture ! This good deed ac- 
complished, with quickened breath and a deeper blush 
she stole a glance at the youthful stranger for whom she 
had been battling with a dragon in the air. 

^'He is handsome!" thought she, and blushed redder 

25 yet. 

How could it be that no dream of bliss grew so strong 
within him that, shattered by its very strength, it should 
part asunder and allow him to perceive the girl among its 
phantoms? Why, at least, did no smile of welcome 

30 brighten upon his face? She was come, the maid whose 
soul, according to the old and beautiful idea, had been 
severed from his own, and whom in all his vague but pas- 
sionate desires he yearned to meet. Her only could he 
love with a perfect love, him only could she receive into 

35 the depths of her heart, and now her image was faintly 



David Swan 67 

blushing in the fountain by his side; should it pass away, 
its happy luster would never gleam upon his life again. 

"How sound he sleeps!" murmured the girl. She de- 
parted, but did not trip along the road so lightly as when 
5 she came. 

Now, this girl's father was a thriving country mer- 
chant in the neighborhood, and happened at that identi- 
cal time to be looking out for just such a young man as 
David Swan. Had David formed a wayside acquaint- 
10 ance with the daughter, he would have become the 
father's clerk, and all else in natural succession. So here, 
again, had good fortune, the best of fortunes, stolen so 
near that her garments brushed against him, and he 
knew nothing of the matter. 
15 The girl was hardly out of sight when two men turned 
aside beneath the maple shade. Both had dark faces set 
off by cloth caps, which were drawn down aslant over 
their brows. Their dresses were shabby, yet had a cer- 
tain smartness. These were a couple of rascals who got 
20 their living by whatever the devil sent them, and now, in 
the interim of other business, had staked the joint profits 
of their next piece of villainy on a game of cards which 
was to have been decided here under the trees. But, 
finding David asleep by the spring, one of the rogues whis- 
25 pered to his fellow : 

"Hist! Do 3^ou see that bundle under his head?'' 

The other villain nodded, winked and leered. 

"I'll bet you a horn of brandy," said the first, "that 
the chap has either a pocketbook or a snug little hoard of 
30 small change stowed away amongst his shirts. And if 
not there, we will find it in his pantaloons pocket." 

"But how if he wakes?" said the other. 

His companion thrust aside his waistcoat, pointed to 
the handle of a dirk and nodded. 
35 "So be it!" muttered the second villain. 



68 Readings in Literature 

They approached the unconscious David, and, while 
one pointed the dagger toward his heart, the other began 
to search the bundle beneath his head. Their two faces, 
grim, wrinkled and ghastly with guilt and fear, bent over 
5 their victim, looking horrible enough to be mistaken for 
fiends should he suddenly awake. Nay, had the villains 
glanced aside into the spring, even they would hardly 
have known themselves as reflected there. But David 
Swan had never worn a more tranquil aspect, even when 

10 asleep on his mother's breast. 

"I must take away the bundle," whispered one. 
''If he stirs, I'll strike," muttered the other. 
But at this moment a dog scenting along the ground 
came in beneath the maple trees and gazed alternately at 

15 each of these wicked men and then at the quiet sleeper. 
He then lapped out of the fountain. 

' ' Pshaw ! ' ' said one villain. ' ' We can do nothing now. 
The dog's master must be close behind." 

''Let's take a drink and be off," said the other. 

20 The man with the dagger thrust back the weapon into 
his bosom and drew forth a pocket pistol, but not of that 
kind which kills by a single discharge. It was a flask of 
liquor with a block-tin tumbler screwed upon the mouth. 
Each drank a comfortable dram, and left the spot with so 

25 many jests and such laughter at their unaccomplished 
wickedness that thej^ might be said to have gone on their 
way rejoicing. In a few hours they had forgotten the 
whole affair, nor once imagined that the recording angel 
had written down the crime of murder against their souls 

30 in letters as durable as eternity. As for David Swan, he 
still slept quietly, neither conscious of the shadow of 
death when it hung over him nor of the glow of renewed 
life when that shadow was withdrawn. He slept, but no 
longer so quietly as at first. An hour's repose had 

35 snatched from his elastic frame the weariness with which 



David Swan 



69 



many hours of toil had burdened it. Now he stirred, 
now moved his Hps without a sound, now talked in an 
inward tone to the noonday specters of his dream. But 
a noise of wheels came rattling louder and louder along 
5 the road, until it dashed through the dispersing mist of 
David's slumber; and there was the stage-coach. He 
started up with all his ideas about him. 

''Halloo, driver! Take a passenger?" shouted he. 
''Room on top!" answered the driver. 

10 Up mounted David, and bowled away merrily toward 
Boston without so much as a parting glance at that foun- 
tain of dreamlike vicissitude. He knew not that a phan- 
tom of Wealth had thrown a golden hue upon its waters, 
nor that one of Love had sighed softly to their murmur, 

15 nor that one of Death had threatened to crimson them with 
his blood, all in the brief hour since he lay down to sleep. 
Sleeping or waking, we hear not the airy footsteps of 
the strange things that almost happen. Does it not argue 
a superintending Providence that, while viewless and un- 

20 expected events thrust themselves continually athwart 
our path, there should still be regularity enough in mortal 
life to render foresight even partially available? 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. What is the purpose of the 

first paragraph? 

2. Where does this story be- 

gin? 

3. Trace the action of the 

story. 

4. a. What would have been the 

result, in each case, had 
David been aroused by 
the old couple? 

b. By the girl? 

c. By the robbers? 



5. a. What, in each case, settled 

the question? 
Note that these deciding 
factors were of no im- 
portance in themselves, 
b. Tell why the author makes 
use of them. 

6. Point out the climax of the 

story. 

7. a. Why did David stop? 

b. What finally caused him 
to awaken? 



70 



Readings in Literature 



8. Note carefully how the 

writer keeps to his story. 
What do we call this qual- 
ity of style? 

9. Compare the sentences of 

this selection with those 
of "The Purloined Let- 
ter," as to their length. 
10. Read the sentences of the sec- 
ond paragraph, one by 
one. 

a. What have you to say 

about their length? 

b. Mention all the things that 

are told you in the first 
sentence, then in the sec- 
ond and so on through 
the entire paragraph. 
It is very unusual to be 



told so much in single 
sentences. 
c. How does the author do it 
so clearly? 

11. a. Compare Hawthorne's de- 

scription of the merchant 
with Irving' s description 
of Ichabod. 
b. How does Hawthorne bring 
out the traits of charac- 
ter in the various persons 
figuring in the tale? 

12. a. Compare the last para- 

graph with the first. 
b. Show the purpose of the 
last paragraph. 

13. Comment upon the au- 

thor's use of words in the 
last paragraph. 



A DISSERTATION ON ROAST PIG 



BY CHARLES LAMB 



Chakles Lamb was born in London in 1775 and died in Edmon- 
ton in 1834. He was a noted man of letters, critic and humorist. 
He had a very ordinary schooling, after which he became a clerk in 
a large commercial house. His whole life, apart from his work, was 
devoted to the care of his sister, who was subject to fits of insanity. 
He was the intimate friend of the most famous authors of his day; 
his unselfishness, his modesty and his gentle wit endeared him to 
all who knew him. His kindly, lovable nature shows through all 
of his writings. 

"A Dissertation on Roast Pig" is one of a collection of essays 
signed "Elia" and written at various times for the London Maga- 
zine. When these sketches were published in book form they were 
called "Essays of EUa." They are characterized by quaint humor. 



A Dissertation on Roast Pig 71 

Mankind, says a Chinese manuscript, which my 

friend M was obliging enough to read and explain to 

me, for the first seventy thousand ages ate their meat raw, 
clawing or biting it from the living animal, just as they do 
5 in Abyssinia to this day. This period is not obscurely 
hinted at by their great Confucius in the second chapter 
of his '^ Mundane Mutations," where he designates a kind 
of golden age by the term Cho-fang, literally the Cooks' 
Holiday. The manuscript goes on to say that the art of 

10 roasting, or rather broiling (which I take to be the elder 
brother) was accidentally discovered in the manner 
following: The swineherd, Ho-ti, having gone out into the 
woods one morning, as his manner was, to collect mast 
for his hogs, left his cottage in the care of his eldest son, 

15 Bo-bo, a great, lubberly boy, who, being fond of playing 
with fire as younkers of his age commonly are, let some 
sparks escape into a bundle of straw, which, kindling 
quickly, spread the conflagration over every part of their 
poor mansion, till it was reduced to ashes. Together with 

20 the cottage (a sorry, antediluvian makeshift of a building, 
you may think it), what was of much more importance, 
a fine litter of new-farrowed pigs, no less than nine in 
number, perished. China pigs have been esteemed a 
luxury all over the East, from the remotest periods that 

25 we read of. Bo-bo was in utmost consternation, as you 
may think, not so much for the sake of the tenement, 
which his father and he could easily build up again with 
a few dry branches, and the labor of an hour or two, at 
any time, as for the loss of the pigs. While he was think- 

30 ing what he should say to his father, and wringing his 
hands over the smoking remnants of one of those un- 
timely sufferers, an odor assailed his nostrils, unlike any 
scent which he had before experienced. What could it 
proceed from? — not from the burned cottage — he had 

35 smelt that smell before — indeed, this was bj^ no means 



72 Readings in Literature 

the first accident of the kind which had occurred through 
the negligence of this unlucky j^oung fire-brand. Much 
less did it resemble that of an}^ known herb, weed, or 
flower. A premonitory moistening at the same time 
5 overflowed his nether lip. He knew not what to think. 
He next stooped down to feel the pig, if there were any 
signs of life in it. He burned his fingers, and to cool them 
he applied them in his booby fashion to his mouth. Some 
of the crumbs of the scorched skin had come away with 

10 his fingers, and for the first time in his life (in the world's 
life, indeed, for before him no man had known it) he 
tasted — crackling! Again he felt and fumbled at the pig. 
It did not burn him so much now, still he licked his 
fingers from a sort of habit. The truth at length broke 

15 into his slow understanding that it was the pig that 
smelt so, and the pig that tasted so delicious; and sur- 
rendering himself up to the new-born pleasure, he fell to 
tearing up whole handfuls of the scorched skin with the 
flesh next it, and was cramming it down his throat in his 

20 beastly fashion, when his sire entered amid the smoking 
rafters, armed with retributory cudgel, and finding how 
affairs stood, began to rain blows upon the young rogue's 
shoulders, as thick as hailstones, which Bo-bo heeded not 
any more than if they had been flies. The tickling pleas- 

25 ure which he experienced in his lower regions had ren- 
dered him quite callous to any inconveniences he might feel 
in those remote quarters. His father might lay on, but 
he could not beat him from his pig, till he had fairly made 
an end of it, when, becoming a little more sensible of his 

30 situation, something like the following dialogue ensued: 
''You graceless whelp, what have you got there de- 
vouring? Is it not enough that you have burned me 
down three houses with your dog's tricks, and be hanged 
to you! but you must be eating fire, and I know not what 

35 — what have you got there, I say?" 



A Dissertation on Roast Pig 73 

"0 father, the pig, the pig! do come and taste how 
nice the burnt pig eats'/' 

The ears of Ho-ti tingled with horror. He cursed his 
son, and he cursed himself, that ever he should beget a 
5 son that should eat burnt pig. 

Bo-bo, whose scent was wonderfully sharpened since 
morning, soon raked out another pig, and fairly rending 
it asunder, thrust the lesser half by main force into the 
fists of Ho-ti, still shouting out, ''Eat, eat, eat the burnt 

10 pig, father, only taste — Lord!" — with such-like bar- 
barous ejaculations, cramming all the while as if he 
would choke. 

Ho-ti trembled every joint while he grasped the 
abominable thing, wavering whether he should not put 

15 his son to death for an unnatural young monster, when 
the crackling scorching his fingers, as it had done his son's, 
and applying the same remedy to them, he in his turn 
tasted some of its flavor, which, make what sour mouths 
he would for pretense, proved not altogether displeasing 

20 to him. In conclusion (for the manuscript here is a little 
tedious) both father and son fairly set down to the mess, 
and never left off till they had dispatched all that re- 
mained of the litter. 

Bo-bo was strictly enjoined not to let the secret 

25 escape, for the neighbors would certainly have stoned 
them for a couple of abominable wretches, who could 
think of improving upon the good meat which God had 
sent them. Nevertheless, strange stories got about. It 
was observed that Ho-ti's cottage was burnt down now 

30 more frequently than ever. Nothing but fires from this 
time forward. Some would break out in broad day, 
others in the night time. As often as the sow farrowed, 
so sure was the house of Ho-ti to be in a blaze; and Ho-ti 
himself, which was the more remarkable, instead of chas- 

35 tising his son, seemed to grow more indulgent to him than 



74 Readings in Literature 

ever. At length they were watched, the terrible mystery 
discovered, and father and son summoned to take their 
trial at Pekin, then an inconsiderable assize town. Evi- 
dence was given, the obnoxious food itself produced in 
5 court, and verdict about to be pronounced, when the 
foreman of the jury begged that some of the burnt pig, 
of which the culprits stood accused, might be handed 
into the box. He handled it, and they all handled it; 
and burning their fingers, as Bo-bo and his father had 

10 done before them, and Nature prompting to each of them 
the same remedy, against the face of all the facts, and the 
clearest charge which judge had ever given — to the sur- 
prise of the whole court, townsfolk, strangers, reporters, 
and all present — without leaving the box, or any manner 

15 of consultation whatever, they brought in a simultaneous 
verdict of Not Guilty. 

The judge, who was a shrewd fellow, winked at the 
manifest iniquity of the decision; and when the court was 
dismissed, went privily and bought up all the pigs that 

20 could be had for love or money. In a few days his Lord- 
ship's town-house was observed to be on fire. The thing 
took wing, and now there was nothing to be seen but fire 
in every direction. Fuel and pigs grew enormously dear 
all over the district. The insurance offices, one and all, 

25 shut up shop. People built slighter and slighter every 
day, until it was feared that the very science of architec- 
ture would, in no long time, be lost to the world. Thus 
this custom of firing houses continued, till in process of 
time, says my manuscript, a sage arose, like our Locke, 

30 who made a discovery, that the flesh of smne, or indeed, 
of any other animal, might be cooked (burnt, as they 
called it) without the necessit}^ of consuming a whole 
house to dress it. Then first began the rude form of grid- 
iron. Roasting by the string or spit came in a century 

35 or two later, I forget in whose dynasty. By such slow 



A Dissertation on Roast Pig 75 

degrees, concludes the manuscript, do the most useful, 
and seemingly the most obvious arts, make their way 
among mankind. — 

Without placing too implicit faith in the account 
5 above given, it must be agreed that, if a worthy pretext 
for so dangerous an experiment as setting houses on fire 
(especially in these days) could be assigned in favor of 
any culinary object, that pretext and excuse might be 
found in roast pig. 

10 Of all the delicacies in the whole mundus edibilis, I 
will maintain it to be the most delicate — princeps ob- 
soniorum. 

I speak not of your grown porkers — things between 
pig and pork — those hobby dehoj^s, but a young and ten- 

15 der suckling, under a moon old, guiltless, as yet, of the 
sty, with no original speck of the amor immunditiw, the 
hereditary faiUng of the first parent, yet manifest, his 
voice, as yet, not broken, but something between a 
childish treble and a grumble, the mild forerunner, or 

20 prceludium of a grunt. 

He must be roasted. I am not ignorant that our 
ancestors ate them seethed, or boiled — but what a 
sacrifice of the exterior tegument! 

There is no flavor comparable, I will contend, to that 

25 of the crisp, tawny, well-watched, not over-roasted crack- 
ling, as it is well called — the very teeth are invited to 
their share of the pleasure at this banquet in overcoming 
the coy, brittle resistance — with the adhesive oleagi- 
nous — oh, call it not fat! but an indefinable sweetness 

30 growing up to it — the tender blossoming of fat — fat 
cropped in the bud — taken in the shoot — in the first 
innocence — the cream and quintessence of the child- 
pig's yet pure food — the lean, no lean, but a kind 
of animal manna — or rather fat and lean (if it must 

35 be so), so blended and running into each other, that 



76 Readings in Literature 

both together make but one ambrosian result or com- 
mon substance. 

Behold him, while he is ''doing" — it seemeth rather a 
refreshing warmth, than a scorching heat, that he is so 
5 passive to. How equably he twirleth round the string! 
Now he is just done. To see the extreme sensibility of 
that tender age! he hath wept out his pretty eyes — 
radiant jellies — shooting-stars. 

See him in the dish, his second cradle, how meek he 

10 lieth ! — wouldst thou have had this innocent grow up to 
the grossness and indocility which too often accompany 
maturer smnehood? Ten to one he would have proved 
a glutton, a sloven, an obstinate, disagreeable animal 
— wallowing in all manner of filthy conversation — ^from 

15 these sins he is happily snatched away — 

''Ere sin could blight or sorrow fade; 
Death came with timely care " 

His memory is odoriferous; no clown curseth while his 
stomach half rejecteth the rank bacon, no coal-heaver 

20 bolteth him in reeking sausages; he hath a fair sepulcher 
in the grateful stomach of the judicious epicure, and for 
such a tomb might be content to die. 

I am one of those who freely and ungrudgingly impart 
a share of the good things of this life which fall to their 

25 lot (few as mine are in this kind) to a friend. I protest 
I take as great an interest in my friend's pleasures, his 
relishes, and proper satisfactions, as in mine own. "Pres- 
ents," I often say, "endear Absents." Hares, pheasants, 
partridges, snipes, barn-door chickens (those "tame vil- 

30 latic fowl"), capons, plovers, brawn, barrels of oysters, I 
dispense as freely as I receive them. I love to taste them, 
as it were, upon the tongue of my friend. But a stop 
must be put somewhere. One would not, like Lear, 
"give everything." I make my stand upon pig. Me- 



A Dissertation on Roast Pig 77 

thinks it is an ingratitude to the Giver of all good 
flavors, to extra-domiciliate, or send out of the house, 
slightingly (under pretext of friendship, or I know not 
what), a blessing so particularly adapted, predestined, 
5 I may say, to my individual palate. It argues an insen- 
sibility. 

I remember a touch of conscience in this kind at 
school. My good old aunt, who never parted from me 
at the end of a holiday without stuffing a sweetmeat, or 

10 some nice thing into my pocket, had dismissed me one 
evening with a smoking plum-cake, fresh from the oven. 
In my way to school (it was over London bridge) , a gray- 
headed old beggar saluted me (I have no doubt, at this 
time of day, that he was a counterfeit) . I had no pence 

15 to console him with, and in the vanity of self-denial, and 
the very coxcombry of charity, schoolboy-like, I made him 
a present of — the whole cake! I walked on a little, 
buoyed up, as one is on such occasions, with a sweet 
soothing of self-satisfaction; but before I had got to the 

20 end of the bridge my better feelings returned, and I 
burst into tears, thinking how ungrateful I had been to 
my good aunt, to go and give her good gift away to a 
stranger that I had never seen before, and who might be 
a bad man for aught I knew; and then I thought of the 

25 pleasure my aunt would be taking in thinking that I — I 
myself and not another — would eat her nice cake, and 
what should I say to her the next time I saw her, how 
naughty I was to part with her pretty present ! — and the 
odor of that spicy cake came back upon my recollection, 

30 and the pleasure and the curiosity I had taken in seeing 
her make it, and her joy when she had sent it to the oven, 
and how disappointed she would feel that I had never 
had a bit of it in my mouth at last — and I blamed my 
impertinent spirit of almsgiving, and out-of-place hypoc- 

35 risy of goodness; and above all, I wished never to see the 



78 Readings in Literature 

face again of that insidious, good-for-nothing, old gray 
impostor. 

Our ancestors were nice in their method of sacrificing 
these tender victims. We read of pigs whipped to death, 
5 with something of a shock, as we hear of any other obso- 
lete custom. The age of discipline is gone by, or it would 
be curious to inquire (in a philosophical light merely) 
what effect this process might have toward intenerating 
and dulcifying a substance naturally so mild and dulcet 

10 as the flesh of young pigs. It looks like refining a vio- 
let. Yet we should be cautious, while we condemn the 
inhumanity, how we censure the wisdom of the practice. 
It might impart a gusto. 

I remember an hypothesis, argued upon by the young 

15 students when I was at St. Omer's, and maintained with 
much learning and pleasantry on both sides, ''Whether, 
supposing that the flavor of a pig who obtained his death 
by whipping {per flaggellationem extremam) superadded 
a pleasure upon the palate of a man more intense than 

20 any possible suffering we can conceive in the animal, is 
man justified in using that method of putting the animal 
to death? " I forget the decision. 

His sauce should be considered. Decidedly, a few 
bread-crumbs, done up with his liver and brains, and a 

25 dash of mild sage. But banish, dear Mrs. Cook, I be- 
seech you, the whole onion tribe. Barbecue your whole 
hogs to your palate, steep them in shalots, stuff them out 
with plantations of the rank and guilty garlic; you cannot 
poison them, or make them stronger than they are — but 

30 consider, he is a weakling — a flower. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

An Essay is a form of composition in which a writer sets forth his 
views on a certain subject. It is not so formal nor so exhaustive as a 
treatise. This kind of composition is termed exposition. 



A Dissertation on Roast Pig 



79 



1. What is the purpose of this 

essay? 

2. What is the writer's taste 

in regard to "roast pig"? 

3. How does the author at- 

tempt to trace the origin 
of roasting pigs? 

4. a. Tell briefly what was in the 

Chinese manuscript? 
b. In what spirit does the 
author offer this histor- 
ical account of the "art" 
of roasting? 

5. Note the quaint humor in 

the following expressions : 

"China pigs have been es- 
teemed a luxury all over 
the East from the remot- 
est periods we read of"; 

" wringing his hands 

over the smoking remains 
of those untimely suffer- 
ers"; 

"a premonitory moisten- 
ing overflowed his nether 
Hp." 

Point out other instances 
of the same kind. 

6. Note that when the author 

has finished his historical 
account of the develop- 
ment of this art, he be- 
gins to set forth his own 
views. 
In the paragraphs begin- 
ning on line 10, page 75, 
and line 13, same page, 
Lamb makes use of a 
number of Latin terms. 

a. Why does he do this? 

b. What is the effect gained 

thereby? 



7. In the paragraph beginning 

on Une 24, page 75, pick 
out the metaphors used. 
(Note throughout the selec- 
t i o n how frequently 
Lamb makes use of this 
figure of speech.) 

8. What does the next para- 

graph (beginning line 3, 
page 76) describe? 

9. a. Note the effect of the one 

that follows. (Begin- 
ning Une 9, page 76.) 
b. How does the author gain 
this effect? 

10. a. Repeat in your own words 

the writer's reminiscence 
about his aunt and the 
plum-cake, 
b. Why does Lamb put in that 
incident? 
(If you can not tell at once, 
read the two preceding 
paragraphs, and then see 
if you can find the rea- 
son.) 

11. In olden times how did 

cooks make pigs more 
tender? 

12. What do you think of the 

sentence — "It looks like 
refining a violet," in its 
apphcation to the topic 
under consideration? 

13. What was the subject for 

debate, mentioned in the 
paragraph beginning fine 
14, page 78? 

14. From your study of this se- 

lection, make a brief sum- 
mary of the qualities of 
Lamb's style of writing. 



80 



Readings in Literature 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 71, line 6 — "Confucius" — a 
celebrated Chinese philosopher. 
He was born about 551 B. C. 
in Lu (modern province of Shan- 
tung). His teachings, written 
in books partly by himself and 
partly by his followers, are 
looked upon by the Chinese 
much as the Bible is by Chris- 
tian nations. 

Page 71, hne 20 — "antediluvian" 
— of or pertaining to times or 
things or events, before the great 
flood in the days of Noah. 

Page 74, line 3 — "assize town" — 
a town in which regular sessions 
of a superior court are held. 

Page 74, line 29—" Locke "—a cele- 
brated Enghsh philosopher. He 
was born in 1632 and died in 
1704. He was one of the most 
influential thinkers of modern 
times. His chief work is his 



"Essay on the Human Under- 
standing." 

Page 75, hne 10 — "mundus edi- 
bihs" — a Latin phrase meaning 
"the world of eatables" i.e., 
every thing that is good to eat. 

Page 75, hne 1 1 — " princeps obsoni- 
orum" — a Latin expression 
meaning, "the chief of delica- 
cies." 

Page 75, Hne 16 — "amor immun- 
ditiae" — a Latin expression, 
meaning "a love of filth." 

Page 75, hne 20 — "praeludium" — 
a Latin word; prae, meaning 
"before" and, ludus, "play." 
In music, this word refers to 
a strain, introducing the chief 
theme. 

Page 78, hne 18 — "per flaggella- 
tionem extremam" — a Latin 
phrase, meaning, "by whipping 
to death." 



Suggestions for Home Reading 



Mark Twain's "Tom Sawyer"— 

a boys' story, humorously told. 

Dickens' ' ' Pickwick Papers ' ' — 



sketches setting forth incidents 
in the hves of Pickwick and his 
friends. 



SAN FRANCISCO 
(A Modern Cosmopolis) 

BY ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON 



Robert Louis Stevenson was born in Scotland in 1850 and 
died in Samoa in 1894. He came of a family of culture and refine- 
ment. He had the advantage of a splendid education. Because 
of ill health, a great part of his life was spent in travel in Europe, 
America, Australia and among the South Sea Islands. 



San Francisco 81 

Sidney Colvin summarizes the literary work of Stevenson in the 
following words: "Without being the inventor of any new form or 
mode of literary art, he handled with success and freshness nearly 
all the old forms — ^the moral, critical and personal essay, travels, 
sentimental and other, romances and short tales, both historical 
and modern, tales of mystery, boys' stories of adventure, drama, 
and lyrical and meditative verse. To some of these forms he gave 
quite new life; through all alike he expressed vividly his own ex- 
tremely personal way of seeing and being, his peculiar sense of 
nature and romance. 

"No man ever gained truer friends through the practice of an 
art; and to these, the art in all its perfectness, was but as a country, 
rich, varied, where they might walk and know him — the story run- 
ning an accompaniment, Hke a singing brook by the path, or pound- 
ing like a tempestuous sea on the shoulders of the cliff, where they 
lay, sheltered and by the fire. 

"He made a broad appeal; seven men in one, and of a radiant 
heart, his sympathy, his breadth of judgment, and his love of men, 
gave him that noble comprehension of life that makes the Christ- 
mas sermon a new gospel. 

"Brave friend! young men and unspoiled women are thy lovers, 
and the earth is sweet with thy memory." 

San Francisco (A Modern Cosmopolis) was written by Steven- 
son after a sojourn of some months there in the years 1879 and 1880. 
In reading this essay it is well to keep in mind the following facts: 
A Spanish town was laid out on the present site of San Francisco 
in the year 1835. A United States man-of-war took possession of 
it in 1846. It became a place of importance because of the dis- 
covery of gold in Cahfornia in 1848 and grew with wonderful 
rapidity. In 1850 it was incorporated as a city. Devastating fires 
occurred in 1849 and 1851, and a frightful earthquake and fire 
caused great loss of life and property in 1906. 

The Pacific coast of the United States, as you may 

see by the map, and still better in that admirable 

book, "Two Years Before the Mast," by Dana, is one of 

the most exposed and shelterless on earth. The trade- 

5 wind blows fresh; the huge Pacific swell booms along 



82 Readings in Literature 

degree after degree of an unbroken line of coast. South 
of the joint firth of the Columbia and Willamette, there 
flows in no considerable river; south of Puget Sound there 
is no protected inlet of the ocean. Along the whole sea- 
5 board of California there are but two unexceptionable 
anchorages, the bight of the bay of Monterey, and the 
inland sea that takes its name from San Francisco. 

Whether or not it was here that Drake put in in 1597, 
we cannot tell. There is no other place so suitable; and 

10 yet the narrative of Francis Pretty scarcely seems to suit 
the features of the scene. Viewed from seaward, the 
Golden Gates should give no very English impression to 
justify the name of a New Albion. On the west, the deep 
lies open; nothing near but the still vexed Farrallones. 

15 The coast is rough and barren. Tamalpais, a mountain 
of memorable figure, springing direct from the sea-level, 
over-plumbs the narrow entrance from the north. On the 
south, the loud music of the Pacific sounds along beaches 
and cliffs, and among broken reefs, the sporting place of 

20 the sea-lion. Dismal, shifting sand hills, T\Tinkled by the 
wind, appear behind. Perhaps, too, in the dsivs of Drake, 
Tamalpais would be clothed to its peak with the majestic 
redwoods. 

Within the memory of persons not yet old, a mariner 

25 might have steered into these narrows — not yet the 
Golden Gates — opened out the surface of the bay — here 
girt T\ath hills, there Ij'ing broad to the horizon — and be- 
held a scene as empty of the presence, as pure from the 
handiworks of man, as in the dsLVS of our old sea-com- 

30 mander. A Spanish mission, fort, and church took the 
place of those "houses of the people of the country" 
which were seen by Pretty, "close to the waterside." 
All else would be unchanged. Now, a generation later, a 
great city covers the sand-hills on the west, a growing 

35 town lies along the muddy shallows of the east; steam- 



San Francisco 83 

boats pant continually between them from before sunrise 
till the small hours of the morning; lines of great sea- 
going ships lie ranged at anchor; colors fly upon the 
islands; and from all around the hum of corporate life, of 
5 beaten bells, and steam, and running carriages, goes 
cheerily abroad in the sunshine. Choose a place on one 
of the huge, throbbing ferry-boats, and, when you are 
midway between the city and the suburb, look around. 
The air is fresh and salt as if you were at sea. On the 

10 one hand is Oakland, gleaming white among its gardens. 
On the other, to seaward, hill after hill is crowded and 
crowned with the palaces of San Francisco; its long streets 
lie in regular bars of darkness, east and west, across the 
sparkling picture; a forest of masts bristles like bul- 

15 rushes about its feet; nothing remains of the days of 
Drake but the faithful tradewind scattering the smoke, 
the fogs that will begin to muster about sundown, and 
the fine bulk of Tamalpais looking down on San Fran- 
cisco, like Arthur's Seat on Edinburgh. 

20 Thus in the course of a generation only, this city and 
its suburb have arisen. Men are alive by the score who 
have hunted all over the foundations in a dreary waste. 
I have dined near the ''punctual center" of San Fran- 
cisco with a gentleman (then newly married) who told 

25 me of his former pleasures, wading with his fowling-piece 
in sand and scrub, on the site of the house where we were 
dining. In this busy, moving generation, we have all 
known cities to cover our boyish playgrounds, we have 
all started for a country walk and stumbled on a new 

30 suburb; but I wonder what enchantment of the "Arabian 
Nights" can have equalled this evocation of a roaring 
city, in a few years of a man's life from the marshes and 
the blowing sand. Such swiftness of increase, as with an 
overgrown youth, suggests a corresponding swiftness of 

35 destruction. The sandy peninsular of San Francisco, 



84 Readings in Literature 

mirroring itself on one side in the bay, beaten, on the 
other, by the surge of the Pacific, and shaken to the heart 
by frequent earthquakes, seems in itself no very durable 
foundation. According to Indian tales, perhaps older 
5 than the name of California, it once rose out of the sea in 
a moment, and some time or other shall, in a moment, 
sink again. No Indian, they say, cares to linger on that 
dreadful land. '' The earth hath bubbles as the water has, 
and this is of them." Here, indeed, all is new, nature as 

10 well as towns. The very hills of California have an un- 
finished look; the rains and the streams have not yet 
carved them to their perfect shape. The forests spring 
like mushrooms from the unexhausted soil; and they are 
mown down yearly by forest fires. We are in early geo- 

15 logical epochs, changeful and insecure; and we feel, as 
with a sculptor's model, that the author may yet grow 
weary of and shatter the rough sketch. 

Fancy apart, San I'rancisco is a city beleaguered with 
alarms. The lower parts, along the bay side, sit on piles : 

20 old wrecks decaying, fish dwelling unsunned, beneath the 
populous houses; and a trifling subsidence might drown 
the business quarters in an hour. Earthquakes are not 
uncommon, they are sometimes threatening in their vio- 
lence; the fear of them grows yearly on a resident; he 

25 begins with indifference, ends in sheer panic; and no one 
feels safe in any but a wooden house. Hence it comes 
that, in that rainless clime, the whole city is built of tim- 
ber — a woodyard of unusual extent and complication; 
that fires spring up readily, and, served by the unwearying 

30 tradewind, swiftly spread; that all over the city there are 
fire-signal boxes; that the sound of the bell, telling the 
number of the threatened ward, is soon familiar to the 
ear; and that nowhere else in the world is the art of the 
fireman carried to so nice a point. 

35 Next, perhaps, in order of strangeness to the speed of 



San Francisco 85 

its appearance, is the mingling of the races that combine 
to people it. The town is essentially not Anglo-Saxon; 
still more essentially not American. The Yankee and 
the Englishman find themselves alike in a strange coun- 
5 try. There are none of those touches — not of nature, and 
I dare scarcely say of art — by which the Anglo-Saxon 
feels himself at home in so great a diversity of lands. 
Here, on the contrary, are airs of Marseilles and of Pekin. 
The shops along the street are like the consulates of dif- 

10 ferent nations. The passers-by vary in feature like the 
slides of a magic-lantern. For we are here in that city 
of gold to which adventurers congregated out of all the 
winds of heaven; we are in a land that till the other day 
was ruled and peopled by the countrymen of Cortez; 

15 and the sea that laves the piers of San Francisco is the 
ocean of the east and of the isles of summer. There goes 
the Mexican, unmistakable; there the blue-clad China- 
man with his white slippers; there the soft-spoken brown 
Kanaka, or perhaps a waif from far-away Malaya. You 

20 hear French, German, Italian, Spanish, and English in- 
differently. You taste the food of all nations in the vari- 
ous restaurants; passing from a French prixe-fixe, where 
every one is French, to a roaring German ordinary where 
every one is German; ending, perhaps, in a cool and silent 

25 Chinese tea-house. For every man, for every race and 
nation, that city is a foreign city, humming with foreign 
tongues and customs; and yet each and all have made 
themselves at home. The Germans have a German 
theater and innumerable beer-gardens. The French Fall 

30 of the Bastile is celebrated with squibs and banners and 
marching patriots, as noisily as the American Fourth of 
July. The Italians have their dear domestic quarter, 
with Italian caricatures in the windows, Chianti and 
polenta in the taverns. The Chinese are as settled as in 

35 China. The goods they offer for sale are as foreign as the 



86 Readings in Literature 

lettering on the signboard of the shop ; dried fish from the 
China seas; pale cakes and sweetmeats — the like, perhaps, 
once eaten b}^ Badroulbadour; nuts of unfriendly shape; 
ambiguous, outlandish vegetables, misshapen, lean or bul- 
5 bous — telling of a country where the trees are not as our 
trees, and the very back garden is a cabinet of curiosities. 
The joss-house is hard b}^, heavy with incense, packed 
with quaint carvings and the paraphernalia of a foreign 
ceremonial. All these you behold, crowded together in 

10 the narrower arteries of the citj^, cool, sunless, a little 
mouldy, vrith. the high, musical sing-song of that alien 
language in your ears. Yet the houses are of Occidental 
build: the lines of a hundred telegraphs pass, thick as a 
ship's rigging, overhead, a kite hanging among them per- 

15 haps, or perhaps two; one European, one Chinese in shape 
and color; mercantile Jack, the Italian fisher, the Dutch 
merchant, the Mexican vaquero go hustling by; at the 
sunny end of the street, a thoroughfare roars with. Euro- 
pean traffic; and meanwhile high and clear, out breaks, 

20 perhaps, the San Francisco fire alarm, and people pause 
to count the strokes, and in the stations of the double 
fire-service you know that the electric bells are ringing, 
the traps opening and clapping to, and the engine, manned 
and harnessed, being whisked into the street, before the 

25 sound of the alarm had ceased to vibrate on your ear. 
Of all romantic places for a boy to loiter in, that Chinese 
quarter is the most romantic. There, on a half holiday, 
three doors from home, he may visit an actual foreign 
land, foreign in people, language, things and customs. 

30 The very barber of the ''Arabian !Nights" shall be at 
work before him, shaving heads; he shall see Aladdin 
plajdng on the streets; who know^s, but among those name- 
less vegetables, the fruit of the nose-tree itself may be 
exposed for sale? And the interest is heightened with a 

35 chill of horror. Below, you hear, the cellars are alive 



San Francisco 87 

with mystery; opium dens, where the smokers lie one 
above another, shelf above shelf, close-packed and grovel- 
ling in deadly stupor; the seats of unknown vices and 
cruelties, the prisons of unacknowledged slaves and the 
5 secret lazarettos of disease. 

With all this mass of nationalities, crime is common. 
Amid such a competition of respectabilities, the moral 
sense is confused; in this camp of gold-seekers, speech is 
loud and the hand is read}". There are rough quarters 

10 where it is dangerous o' nights; cellars of public enter- 
tainment which the weary pleasure seeker chooses to 
avoid. Concealed weapons are unla^-ful, but the law is 
continually broken. One editor was shot dead while I 
was there; another walked the streets accompanied by a 

15 bravo, his guardian angel. I have been quietly eating a 
dish of oysters in a restaurant where, not more than ten 
minutes after I had left, shots were exchanged and took 
effect; and one night about ten o'clock, I saw a man stand- 
ing watchfully at a street-corner with a long Smith-and- 

20 Wesson glittering in his hand behind his back. Some- 
body had done something he should not, and was being 
looked for with a vengeance. It is odd, too, that the seat 
of the last vigilance committee I know of — a mediaeval 
Vehmgericht — was none other than the Palace Hotel, the 

25 world's greatest caravanserai, served by hfts and lighted 
with electricity; where, in the great glazed court, a band 
nightly discourses music from a grove of palms. So do 
extremes meet in this city of contrasts : extremes of wealth 
and poverty, apathy and excitement, the conveniences of 

30 civilization and the red justice of Judge Lynch. The 
streets lie straight up and down the hills and straight 
across at right angles, these in the sun, those in the 
shadow, a trenchant pattern of gloom and glare; and what 
with the crisp illumination, the sea-air singing in your 

35 ears, the chill and glitter, the changing aspects both of 



88 Readings in Literature 

things and people, the fresh sights at every corner of your 
walk — sights of the bay, of Tamalpais, of steep, descend- 
ing streets, of the outspread city — whiffs of alien speech, 
sailors singing on shipboard, Chinese coolies toihng on the 
5 shore, crowds brawling all day in the street before the 
Stock Exchange — one brief impression follows another 
and the city leaves upon the mind no general and stable 
picture, but a profusion of airy and incongruous images, 
of the sea and shore, the east and west, the summer and 

10 the winter. 

In the better parts of this most interesting city there 
is apt to be a touch of the commonplace. It is in the 
slums and suburbs that the city dilettante finds his game, 
and there is nothing more characteristic and original than 

15 the outlying quarters of San Francisco. The Chinese dis- 
trict is the most famous; but it is far from the only truffle 
in the pie. There is another dingy corner, many a young 
antiquity, many a terrain vague with that stamp of quaint- 
ness that a city lover seeks and dwells on; and the indefi- 

20 nite prolongation of its streets, up hill and down dale, 
makes San Francisco a place apart. The same street in 
its career visits and unites many different classes of so- 
ciety, here echoing with drays, there lying decorously 
silent between the mansions of bonanza millionaires to 

25 founder at last among the drifting sands beside Lone 
Mountain cemetery, or die out among the sheds and lum- 
ber of the north. Thus you may be struck with a spot — 
set it down for the most romantic in the city — and, glanc- 
ing at the name-plate, find it is on the same street that you 

30 yourself inhabit in another quarter of the town. 

The great net of straight thoroughfares lying at right 
angles east and west and north and south, over the shoul- 
ders of Nob Hill, the hill of palaces, must certainly be 
counted the best part of San Francisco. It is there that 

35 the millionaires are gathered together, vicing with each 



San Francisco 89 

other in display; looking down upon the business wards of 
the city. That is California Street. Far away down you 
may pick out a building with a little belfry; and that is 
the Stock Exchange, the heart of San Francisco; a great 
5 pump, we might call it, continually pumping up the sav- 
ings of the lower quarters into the pockets of the million- 
aires upon the hill. But these same thoroughfares that 
enjoy for a while so elegant a destiny have their lines pro- 
longed into more unpleasant places. Some meet their fate 

10 in the sands; some must take a cruise in the ill-famed 
China quarters; some run into the sea; some perish un- 
wept among pig-stys and rubbish heaps. 

Nob Hill comes, of right, in the place of honor; but 
the two other hills of San Francisco are more entertaining 

15 to explore. On both there are a world of wooden houses 
snoozing away all forgotten. Some are of the quaintest 
design, others only romantic by neglect and age. Some 
are curiously painted, and I have seen one at least with 
ancient carvings panelled in its wall. Surely they are not 

20 of Californian building, but far voyages from round the 
stormy Horn, like those who sent for them and dwelt in 
them at first. Brought to be the favorites of the wealthy, 
they have sunk into these poor, forgotten districts, where, 
like old town toasts, they keep each other silent counte- 

25 nance. Telegraph Hill and Rincon Hill, these are the 
dozing quarters that I recommend to the city dilettante. 
There stand these forgotten houses, enjoying the un- 
broken sun and quiet. There, if there were such an 
author, would the San Francisco Fortune du Boisgobey 

30 pitch the first chapter of his mystery. But the first is 
the quainter of the two. Visited under the broad natu- 
ral daylight, and with the relief and accent of reality, 
these scenes have a quality of dreamland and of the best 
pages of Dickens. Telegraph Hill, besides, commands a 

35 noble view; and as it stands at the turn of the bay, its 



90 



Readings in Literature 



skirts are all waterside, and round from North Reach to 
the Bay Front you can follow doubtful paths from one 
quaint corner to another. Everywhere the same tumble- 
down decay and sloppy progress, new things yet unmade, 
5 old things tottering to their fall; everywhere the same out- 
at-elbows, many-nationed loungers at dim, irregular grog- 
shops; everywhere the same sea-air and isletted sea-pros- 
pect; and for a last and more romantic note, you have on 
the one hand Tamalpais standing high in the blue air, and 

10 on the other the tail of that long alignment of three- 
masted, full-rigged, deep-sea ships that make a forest of 
spars along the eastern front of San Francisco. In no 
other port is such a navy congregated. For the coast 
trade is so trifling, and the ocean trade from round the 

15 Horn so large, that the smaller ships are swallowed up, 
and can do nothing to confuse the majestic order of these 
merchant princes. In an age when the ship-of-the-line is 
already a thing of the past, and we can never hope to go 
coasting in a cock-boat between the ^'wooden walls" of a 

20 squadron at anchor, there is perhaps no place on earth 
where the power and beauty of sea architecture can be so 
perfectly enjoyed as in this bay. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

This essay is a piece of purely descriptive writing. It consists of 



ten paragraphs. 

1. Make an outline of the 

entire selection, giving 
the topic of each para- 
graph. 

2. Note the orderly fashion 

in which Stevenson de- 
velops his subject. See 
if you can trace the con- 
nection between the par- 
agraphs. This writer was 
a master of style. A 



study of his methods will 
help you to gain clear- 
ness in your composition 
work. It is splendid 
practice to try to imitate 
some of his paragraphs. 

What ideas does Stevenson 
express concerning the 
first topic? 

Third Paragraph; what are 
some of the changes 



San Francisco 



91 



caused by the rapid 
growth of the city? 

5. Fourth Paragraph; how 

does the writer empha- 
size the fact that this 
place grew rapidly? 

6. a. To what unusual dangers 

is this city subject? 
b. In regard to each danger, 
tell why. 

7. In regard to the population : 

a. What nationalities does the 

author speak of? 

b. Why does he speak of the 

varieties of cooking? 



8. a. Repeat, in your own words, 

what Stevenson says 
about crime,in this place. 

b. How does he explain this 

condition? 

c. How does he emphasize the 

point he makes? 

9. a. What sections of the city 

does he mention? 
b. Name the three hills he 
speaks of. 
10. a. What does he say of the 
architecture? 
b. Of the shipping in the 
harbor? 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 83, line 19— "Arthur's Seat" 
— a hill over 800 feet high which 
overlooks Edinburgh from the 
East. 

Page 84, line 8 — "the earth hath 
bubbles" — a quotation from 
Shakespeare's "Macbeth," Act 
I, Sc. 3. 

Page 85, line 19— "Kanaka "— 
the Kanakas were the ab- 
original inhabitants of the Ha- 
waiian Islands. 

Page 85, Une 29— "the Fall of the 
Bastile" — the Bastile was a 
prison fortress built in Paris in 
1369 and destroyed on July 14, 
1789, during an uprising of the 
people. July 14 has since been 
made a national holiday in 
France. 

Page 85, line 33— " Chianti "— a 
red wine of Tuscany, 
"polenta" — a porridge made 
from meal; it is the chief article 



of food for the poorer classes of 
Italians. 

Page 86, line 3 — " Badroulbadour " 
— the wife of Aladdin in the 
story of "Aladdin and the Won- 
derful Lamp," in "The Arabian 
Nights' Entertainment." 

Page 87, hne 24— " Vehmgericht " 
— mediaeval tribunals which 
flourished in Germany in the 
14th and 15th centuries. The 
sessions were open when civil 
matters were brought before 
them for adjudication; but 
secret, when criminal cases were 
tried. 

Page 87, line 30— "Judge Lynch" 
— the origin of the term is doubt- 
ful. It is a way of speaking of 
the practice of condemning an 
accused person without forms 
of law. 

Page 89, line 29— "du Boisgobey" 
— Fortune du Boisgobey was 



92 



Readings in Literature 



born in 1821 and died in 1891. 
He was a French novelist who 



wrote a number of books on the 
criminal life in Paris. 



Suggestions for Home Reading 



Irving's "Westminster Abbey" — 
another example of this kind 
of writing. 

White's "Gold" — an interesting 
and instructive account of the 



discovery of gold in Cahfornia. 
It gives a very realistic picture 
of the conditions that existed in 
San Francisco during the first 
years of its existence. 



THE TOURNAMENT AT ASHBY 

(From "Ivanhoe") 
BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

Sir Walter Scott was a poet and novelist. He was born in 
Scotland in 1771 and died in Abbotsford in 1832. Lameness, the 
result of an early sickness, kept him from taking part in the usual 
pastimes of boyhood and caused him to spend much of his time in 
reading. In this way he stored his mind with a great deal of the 
material on which he drew in writing his ballads and romances. 
Through his writings, Scott gained distinction and wealth. In 
1862, however, an unfortunate business connection caused him to 
lose all his money and burdened him with a debt which he felt 
bound in conscience to pay. His struggle to relieve himself of this 
burden caused a breakdown in mind and body from which he did 
not recover. 

Scott was gifted with a wonderful power of story-telling and 
an unusual skiU in the delineation of Character. There are many 
faults in his style but they are due in part, at least, to the rapidity 
with which he worked. 

Of all of Sir Walter Scott's novels, "Ivanhoe" is probably the 
most widely read. The incidents of the story take place in England, 
during the reign of Richard I. In reading the novel it is well to 
keep in mind the following historical facts: Richard joined the 
Third Crusade; he left England with a host of EngHsh knights, 
journeyed to the Holy Land and there sought to regain Jerusalem 
from the infidels. Through treachery and jealousy, his allies, the 



The Tournament at Ashhy 93 

French and German nobles, withheld their aid and the expedition 
failed. When Richard was returning to England, he was taken 
prisoner by the Duke of Austria and delivered into the custody of 
his enemy, the Emperor of the Germans, Henry VI. For many 
months he was held in prison for ransom. The king's brother, 
Prince John^ ruled in England during the absence of Richard. As 
he desired to retain possession of the crown he did nothing to set 
his brother free. 

To understand the extract from "Ivanhoe" given here, it is 
necessary to know something of the whole story. The action of 
the piece is centered in four important scenes; the tournament at 
Ashby, the incidents in Sherwood Forest, the storming of the Nor- 
man castle and the trial of the Jewess. There are minor scenes 
which lead up to and connect the important ones. In the opening 
chapters of the novel we have been told the following story: An 
important Saxon lord, Cedric by name, disowned his son, the Knight 
of Ivanhoe, because he insisted upon following King Richard to 
the Holy Land, against his father's wishes. The ward of Cedric, 
the Lady Rowena, shows her interest in Ivanhoe by attempting to 
verify rumors which she has heard, telling of his return to England. 
The Norman nobles plot to aid Prince John in his efforts to gain the 
crown, and one of these, Sir Brian de Bois-Guilbert, shows an espe- 
cial enmity towards Ivanhoe. 

In order to increase his popularity, Prince John has ordered a 
three days' tournament to be held at Ashby for the entertainment 
of all classes. The gathering of the people, to attend this festival, 
serves the author with the means for introducing the characters 
important in the story. During the first day of the tournament, a 
knight who has refused to disclose his identity, has met and de- 
feated in single combat all of the most renowned warriors amongst 
the Norman ranks. 

Morning arose in unclouded splendor, and ere the 
sun was much above the horizon, the idlest or the most 
eager of the spectators appeared on the common, moving 
to the lists as to a general center, in order to secure a f a- 
5 vorable situation for viewing the continuation of the ex- 
pected games. 



94 Readings in Literature 

The marshals and their attendants appeared next on 
the field, together with the heralds, for the purpose of 
receiving the names of the knights who intended to 
joust, with the side which each chose to espouse. This 
5 was a necessary precaution, in order to secure equality 
betwixt the two bodies who should be opposed to each 
other. 

According to due formality, the Disinherited Knight 
was to be considered as leader of the one body, while 

10 Brian de Bois-Guilbert, who had been rated as having 
done second best in the preceding day, was named first 
champion of the other band. Those who had concurred 
in the challenge adhered to his party, of course, excepting 
only Ralph de Vipont, whom his fall had rendered unfit so 

15 soon to put on his armor. There was no want of dis- 
tinguished and noble candidates to fill up the ranks on 
either side. 

In fact, although the general tournament, in which all 
knights fought at once, was more dangerous than single 

20 encounters, they were, nevertheless, more frequented and 
practised by the chivalry of the age. Many knights, who 
had not sufficient confidence in their own skill to defy a 
single adversary of high reputation, were, nevertheless, 
desirous of displaying their valor in the general combat, 

25 where they might meet others with whom they were more 
upon an equality. On the present occasion, about fifty 
knights were inscribed as desirous of combating upon 
each ^de, when the marshals declared that no more could 
be admitted, to the disappointment of several who were 

30 too late in preferring their claim to be included. 

About the hour of ten o'clock the whole plain was 
crowded with horsemen, horsewomen and foot passengers 
hastening to the tournament; and shortly after, a grand 
flourish of trumpets announced Prince John and his 

35 retinue, attended by many of those knights who meant to 



The Tournament at Ashhy 95 

take share in the game, as well as others who had no such 
intention. 

About the same time arrived Cedric the Saxon, with 
the Lady Rowena, unattended, however, by Atheist ane. 
5 This Saxon lord had arrayed his tall and strong person in 
armor in order to take his place among the combatants; 
and, considerably to the surprise of Cedric, had chosen to 
enlist himself on the part of the Knight Templar. The 
Saxon, indeed, had remonstrated strongly with his friend 

10 upon the injudicious choice he had made of his party; but 
he had only received that sort of answer usually given by 
those who are more obstinate in following their own 
course, than strong in justifying it. 

His best, if not his only reason, for adhering to the 

15 party of Brian de Bois-Guilbert, Athelstane had the pru- 
dence to keep to himself. Though his apathy of disposi- 
tion prevented his taking any means to recommend him- 
seK to the Lady Rowena, he was, nevertheless, by no 
means insensible to her charms, and considered his union 

20 with her as a matter already fixed beyond doubt by the 
assent of Cedric and her other friends. It had, therefore, 
been with smothered displeasure that the proud, though 
indolent. Lord of Coningsburgh beheld the victor of the 
preceding day select Rowena as the object of that honor 

25 which it became his privilege to confer. In order to pun- 
ish him for a preference which seemed to interfere with his 
own suit, Athelstane, confident of his strength, and to 
whom his flatterers, at least, ascribed great skill in arms, 
had determined not only to deprive the Disinherited 

30 Knight of his powerful succor, but, if an opportunity 

should occur, to make him feel the weight of his battle-axe. 

De Bracy, and other knights attached to Prince John, 

in obedience to a hint from him, had joined the party of 

the challengers, John being desirous to secure, if possible, 

35 the victory to that side. On the other hand, many other 



96 Readings in Literature 

knights, both English and Norman, natives and strangers, 
took part against the challengers, the more readily that 
the opposite band was to be led by so distinguished a 
champion as the Disinherited Knight had approved 
5 himself. 

As soon as Prince John observed that the destined 
Queen of the day had arrived upon the field, assuming 
that air of courtesy which sat well upon him when he was 
pleased to exhibit it, he rode forward to meet her, doffed 

10 his bonnet, and, alighting from his horse, assisted the Lady 
Rowena from her saddle, while his followers uncovered at 
the same time, and one of the most distinguished dis- 
mounted to hold her palfrey. 

''It is thus,'' said Prince John, ''that we set the dutiful 

15 example of loyalty to the Queen of Love and Beauty, and 
are ourselves her guide to the throne which she must this 
day occupy. Ladies," he said, "attend your Queen, 
as you wish in your turn to be distinguished by like 
honors." 

20 So saying, the Prince marshalled Rowena to the seat 
of honor opposite his own, while the fairest and most dis- 
tinguished ladies present crowded after her to obtain 
places as near as possible to their temporary sovereign. 
No sooner was Rowena seated, than a burst of music, 

25 half drowned by the shouts of the multitude, greeted her 
new dignity. Meantime, the sun shone fierce and bright 
upon the polished arms of the knights of either side, who 
crowded the opposite extremities of the lists, and held 
eager conference together concerning the best mode of 

30 arranging their line of battle, and supporting the conflict. 
The heralds then proclaimed silence until the laws of 
the tourney should be rehearsed. These were calculated 
in some degree to abate the dangers of the day; a precau- 
tion the more necessary, as the conflict was to be main- 

35 tained with sharp swords and pointed lances. 



The Tournament at Ashhy 97 

The champions were therefore prohibited to thrust 
with the sword, and were confined to striking. A knight, 
it was announced, might use a mace or battle-axe at 
pleasure, but the dagger was a prohibited weapon. A 
5 knight unhorsed might renew the fight on foot with any 
other on the opposite side in the same predicament; but 
mounted horsemen were in that case forbidden to assail 
him. When any knight could force his antagonist to the 
extremity of the lists, so as to touch the palisade with his 

10 person or arms, such opponent was obliged to yield him- 
self vanquished, and his armor and horse were placed at 
the disposal of the conqueror. A knight thus overcome 
was not permitted to take farther share in the combat. 
If any combatant was struck do^vn, and unable to recover 

15 his feet, his squire or page might enter the lists, and drag 
his master out of the press; but in that case the knight was 
adjudged vanquished, and his arms and horse declared 
forfeited. The combat was to cease as soon as Prince 
John should throw down his leading staff, or truncheon; 

20 another precaution usually taken to prevent the unneces- 
sary effusion of blood by the too long endurance of a 
sport so desperate. Any knight breaking the rules of the 
tournament, or otherwise transgressing the rules of honor- 
able chivalry, was liable to be stripped of his arms, and, 

25 having his shield reversed, to be placed in that posture 
astride upon the bars of the palisade, and exposed to 
public derision, in punishment of his unknightly conduct. 
Having announced these precautions, the heralds con- 
cluded with an exhortation to each knight to do his 

30 duty, and to merit favor from the Queen of Beauty and 
of Love. 

This proclamation having been made, the heralds with- 
drew to their stations. The knights, entering at either 
ends of the lists in long procession, arranged themselves 

35 in a double file, precisely opposite to each other, the leader 



98 Readings in Literature 

of each party being in the center of the foremost rank, a 
post which he did not occupy until each had carefully 
arranged the ranks of his party, and stationed every one 
in his place. 
5 It was a goodly, and at the same time an anxious sight, 
to behold so many gallant champions, mounted bravely, 
and armed richly, stand ready prepared for an encounter 
so formidable, seated on their war saddles like so many 
pillars of iron, and awaiting the signal of encounter with 

10 the same ardor as their generous steeds, which, by neigh- 
ing and pawing the ground, gave signal of their im- 
patience. 

As yet the knights held their long lances upright, their 
bright points glancing to the sun, and the streamers with 

15 which they were decorated fluttering over the plumage 
of the helmets. Thus they remained while the marshals 
of the field surveyed their ranks with the utmost exact- 
ness, lest either party had more or fewer than the 
appointed number. The tale was found exactly complete. 

20 The marshals then withdrew from the lists, and William 
de Wyvil, with a voice of thunder, pronounced the signal 
words — laissez oiler! The trumpets sounded as he spoke 
— the spears of the champions were at once lowered and 
placed in the rests — the spurs were dashed into the flanks 

25 of the horses, and the two foremost ranks of either party 
rushed upon each other in full gallop, and met in the mid- 
dle of the lists with a shock, the sound of which was heard 
at a mile's distance. The rear rank of each party ad- 
vanced at a slower pace to sustain the defeated, and fol- 

30 low up the success of the victors of their party. 

The consequences of the encounter were not instantly 
seen, for the dust raised by the trampling of so many 
steeds darkened the air, and it was a minute ere the anx- 
ious spectators could see the fate of the encounter. When 

35 the fight became visible, half the knights on each side were 



The Tournament at Ashhy 99 

dismounted, some by the dexterity of their adversary's 
lance, — some by the superior weight and strength of op- 
ponents, which had borne down both horse and man, — 
some lay stretched on earth as if never more to rise, — some 
5 had alreadj^ gained their feet, and were closing hand to 
hand with those of their antagonists who were in the same 
predicament, — and several on both sides, who had received 
wounds by which they were disabled, were stopping their 
blood by their scarfs, and endeavoring to extricate them- 

10 selves from the tumult. The mounted knights, whose 
lances had been almost all broken by the fury of the en- 
counter, were now closely engaged with their swords, 
shouting their war cries, and exchanging buffets, as if 
honor and life depended on the issue of the combat. 

15 The tumult was presently increased by the advance 
of the second rank on either side, which, acting as a re- 
serve, now rushed on to aid their companions. The fol- 
lowers of Brian de Bois-Guilbert shouted, "Ha! Beau- 
Seant! Beau-Seant! — for the Temple, for the Temple!" 

20 The opposite party shouted in answer, — " Desdichado ! 
Desdichado!'' which watchword they took from the motto 
on their leader's shield. 

The champions thus encountering each other with the 
utmost fury, and with alternate success the tide of battle 

25 seemed to flow now toward the southern, now toward 
the northern extremity of the lists, as the one or the other 
party prevailed. Meantime the clang of the blows, and 
the shouts of the combatants, mixed fearfully with the 
sound of the trumpets, and drowned the groans of those 

30 who fell and lay rolling defenceless beneath the feet of the 
horses. The splendid armor of the combatants was now 
defaced with dust and blood, and gave way at every stroke 
of the sword and battle-axe. The gay plumage, shorn 
from the crests, drifted upon the breeze like snowflakes. 

35 All that was beautiful and graceful in the martial array 



100 Readings in Literature 

had disappeared, and what was now visible was only cal- 
culated to awake terror or compassion. 

Yet such is the force of habit, that not only the vulgar 
spectators, who are naturally attracted by sights of hor- 
5 ror, but even the ladies of distinction, who crowded the 
galleries, saw the conflict with a thrilling interest certainly, 
but without a wish to withdraw their eyes from a sight 
so terrible. Here and there, indeed, a fair cheek might 
turn pale, or a faint scream might be heard, as a lover, a 

10 brother, or a husband, was struck from his horse. But, in 
general, the ladies around encouraged the combatants, not 
only by clapping their hands and waving their veils and 
kerchiefs, but even by exclaiming, ''Brave lance! Good 
sword!" when any successful thrust or blow took place 

15 under their observation. 

Such being the interest taken by the fair sex in this 
bloody game, that of the men is the more easily under- 
stood. It showed itself in loud acclamations upon 
every change of fortune, while all eyes were so riveted on 

20 the lists, that the spectators seemed as if they themselves 
had dealt and received the blows which were so freely 
bestowed. And between every pause was heard the voice 
of the heralds, exclaiming, " Fight on, brave knights! Man 
dies, but glory lives! — Fight on; — death is better than de- 

25 feat! — Fight on, brave knights! — for bright eyes behold 
your deeds!" 

Amid the varied fortunes of the combat, the eyes of all 
endeavored to discover the leaders of each band, who, 
mingling in the thick of the fight, encouraged their com- 

30 panions both by voice and example. Both displayed 
great feats of gallantry, nor did either Bois-Guilbert or 
the Disinherited Knight find in the ranks opposed to them 
a champion who could be termed their unquestioned 
match. They repeatedly endeavored to single out each 

35 other, spurred by mutual animosity, and aware that the 



The Tournament at Ashhy 101 

fall of either leader might be considered as decisive of 
victory. Such, however, was the crowd and confusion, 
that, during the early part of the conflict, their efforts 
to meet were unavailing, and they were repeatedly sepa- 
5 rated by the eagerness of their followers, each of whom 
was anxious to win honor, by measuring his strength 
against the leader of the opposite party. 

But when the field became thin by the numbers on 
either side who had yielded themselves vanquished, had 

10 been compelled to the extremity of the lists, or been other- 
wise rendered incapable of continuing the strife, the 
Templar and the Disinherited Knight at length encoun- 
tered hand to hand, with all the fury that mortal ani- 
mosity, joined to rivalry of honor, could inspire. Such 

15 was the address of each in parrying and striking, that the 
spectators broke forth into a unanimous and involuntary 
shout, expressive of their delight and admiration. 

But at this moment the party of the Disinherited 
Knight had the worst; the gigantic arm of Front-de-Boeuf 

20 on the one flank, and the ponderous strength of Athel- 
stane on the other, bearing down and dispersing those im- 
mediately exposed to them. Finding themselves freed 
from their immediate antagonists, it seems to have 
occurred to both these knights at the same instant, that 

25 they would render the most decisive advantage to their 
party, by aiding the Templar in his contest with his rival. 
Turning their horses, therefore, at the same moment, the 
Norman spurred against the Disinherited Knight on the 
one side, and the Saxon on the other. It was utterly im- 

30 possible that the object of this unequal and unexpected 
assault could have sustained it, had he not been warned 
by a general cry from the spectators, who could not but 
take interest in one exposed to such disadvantage. 

'^ Beware! beware! Sir Disinherited!" was shouted so 

35 universally, that the knight became aware of his danger; 



102 Readings in Literature 

and, striking a full blow at the Templar, he reined back 
his steed in the same moment, so as to escape the charge 
of Athelstane and Front-de-Boeuf . These knights, there- 
fore, their aim being thus eluded, rushed from opposite 
5 sides betwixt the object of their attack and the Templar, 
almost running their horses against each other ere they 
could stop their career. Recovering their horses, how- 
ever, and wheeling them round, the whole three pursued 
their united purpose of bearing to the earth the Disin- 

10 herited Knight. 

Nothing could have saved him, except the remarkable 
strength and activity of the noble horse which he had 
won on the preceding day. 

This stood him in the more stead, as the horse of Bois- 

15 Guilbert was wounded, and those of Front-de-Boeuf and 
Athelstane were both tired with the weight of their gigan- 
tic masters, clad in complete armor, and with the pre- 
ceding exertions of the day. The masterly horsemanship 
of the Disinherited Knight, and the activity of the noble 

20 animal which he mounted, enabled him for a few minutes 
to keep at sword's point his three antagonists, turning and 
wheeling with the agility of a hawk upon the wing, keep- 
ing his enemies as far separate as he could, and rushing 
now against the one, now against the other, dealing sweep- 

25 ing blows with his sword, without waiting to receive those 
which were aimed at him in return. 

But although the lists rang with the applauses of his 
dexterity, it was evident that he must at last be over- 
powered; and the nobles around Prince John implored 

30 him with one voice to throw down his warder, and to save 
so brave a knight from the disgrace of being overcome by 
odds. 

''Not I, by the light of heaven!" answered Prince 
John; ''this same springal, who conceals his name, and 

35 despises our proffered hospitality, hath already gained one 



The Tournament at Ashhy 103 

prize, and may now afford to let others have their turn.'* 
As he spoke thus, an unexpected incident changed the 
fortune of the day. 

There was among the ranks of the Disinherited Knight, 
5 a champion in black armor, mounted on a black horse, 
large of size, tall, and to all appearance powerful and strong, 
like the rider by whom he was mounted. This knight, 
who bore on his shield no device of any kind, had hitherto 
evinced verj^ little interest in the event of the fight, beat- 

10 ing off with seeming ease those combatants who attacked 
him, but neither pursuing his advantages, nor himself 
assailing any one. In short, he had hitherto acted the 
part rather of a spectator than of a party in the tourna- 
ment, a circumstance which procured him among the 

15 spectators the name of " Le Noir Faineant/^ or the Black 
Sluggard. 

At once this knight seemed to throw aside his apathy, 
when he discovered the leader of his party so hard be- 
sted; for, setting spurs to his horse, which was quite 

20 fresh, he came to his assistance like a thunderbolt, ex- 
claiming, in a voice like a trumpet-call, ^'Desdichado, to 
the rescue ! " It was high time ; for, while the Disinherited 
Knight was pressing upon the Templar, Front-de-Boeuf 
had got nigh to him with his uplifted sword; but ere the 

25 blow could descend, the Sable Knight dealt a stroke on 
his head, which, glancing from the polished helmet, lighted 
with violence scarcely abated on the ''chamfron" of his 
steed, and Front-de-Boeuf rolled on the ground, both 
horse and man equally stunned by the fury of the blow. 

30 "Le Noir Faineant" then turned his horse upon Athel- 
stane of Coningsburgh ; and his own sword having been 
broken in his encounter with Front-de-Boeuf, he wrenched 
from the hand of the bulky Saxon the battle-axe which he 
wielded, and, like one familiar with the use of the weapon, 

35 bestowed him such a blow upon the crest, that Athelstane 



104 Readings in Literature 

also lay senseless on the field. Having achieved this 
double feat, for which he was the more highly applauded 
that it was totally unexpected from him, the knight 
seemed to resume the sluggishness of his character, re- 
5 turning calmly to the northern extremity of the lists, 
leaving his leader to cope as he best could with Brian de 
Bois-Guilbert. This was no longer a matter of so much 
difficulty as formerly. The Templar's horse had bled 
much, and gave way under the shock of the Disinherited 

10 Knight's charge. Brian de Bois-Guilbert rolled on the 
field, encumbered with the stirrup, from which he was 
unable to draw his foot. His antagonist sprung from 
horseback, waved his fatal sword over the head of his 
adversary, and commanded him to yield himself; when 

15 Prince John, more moved by the Templar's dangerous situ- 
ation than he had been by that of his rival, saved him the 
mortification of confessing himself vanquished, by casting 
down his warder, and putting an end to the conflict. 
It was, indeed, only the relics and embers of the fight 

20 which continued to burn; for of the few knights who still 
continued in the lists, the greater part had, by tacit con- 
sent, forborne the conflict for some time, leaving it to be 
determined by the strife of the leaders. 

The squires, who had found it a matter of danger and 

25 difficulty to attend their masters during the engagement, 
now thronged into the lists to pay their dutiful attendance 
to the wounded, who were removed with the utmost care 
and attention to the neighboring pavilions, or to the quar- 
ters prepared for them in the adjoining village. 

30 Thus ended the memorable field of Ashby-de-la- 
Zouche, one of the most gallantly contested tournaments 
of that age; for although only four knights, including one 
who was smothered by the heat of his armor, had died 
upon the field, yet upwards of thirty were desperately 

35 wounded, four or five of whom never recovered. Several 



The Tournament at Ashby 105 

more were disabled for life; and those who escaped best 
carried the marks of the conflict to the grave with them. 
Hence it is always mentioned in the old records, as the 
Gentle and Joyous Passage of Arms of Ashby. 
5 It being now the duty of Prince John to name the 
knight who had done best, he determined that the honor 
of the day remained with the knight whom the popular 
voice had termed "Le Noir Faineant'' It was pointed 
out to the Prince, in impeachment of this decree, that the 

10 victory had been in fact won by the Disinherited Knight, 
who, in the course of the day, had overcome six cham- 
pions with his own hand, and who had finally unhorsed 
and struck down the leader of the opposite party. But 
Prince John adhered to his own opinion, on the ground 

15 that the Disinherited Knight and his party had lost the 
day but for the powerful assistance of the Knight of the 
Black Armor, to whom, therefore, he persisted in award- 
ing the prize. 

To the surprise of all present, however, the knight 

20 thus preferred was nowhere to be found. He had left the 
lists immediately when the conflict ceased, and had been 
observed by some spectators to move down one of the 
forest glades with the same slow pace and listless and in- 
different manner which had procured him the epithet of 

25 the Black Sluggard. After he had been summoned twice 
by sound of trumpet, and proclamation of the heralds, it 
became necessary to name another to receive the honors 
which had been assigned to him. Prince John had now 
no further excuse for resisting the claim of the Disinherited 

30 Knight, whom, therefore, he named the champion of the 
day. 

Through a field slippery with blood, and encumbered 
with broken armor and the bodies of slain and wounded 
horses, the marshals of the list again conducted the victor 

35 to the foot of Prince John's throne. 



106 Readings in Literature 

"Disinherited Knight," said Prince John, ''since by 
that title only you will consent to be known to us, we a 
second time award to you the honors of this tournament, 
and announce to you your right to claim and receive from 
5 the hands of the Queen of Love and Beauty, the Chaplet 
of Honor which your valor has justly deserved." The 
knight bowed low and gracefully, but returned no 
answer. 

While the trumpets sounded, while the heralds strained 

10 their voices in proclaiming honor to the brave and glory 
to the victor, while ladies waved their silken kerchiefs and 
embroidered veils, and while all ranks joined in a clamor- 
ous shout of exultation, the marshals conducted the Dis- 
inherited Knight across the lists to the foot of that throne 

15 of honor which was occupied by the Lady Rowena. 

On the lower step of this throne the champion was 
made to kneel do^n. Indeed, his whole action since the 
fight had ended, seemed rather to have been upon the 
impulse of those around him rather than from his own 

20 free will; and it was observed that he tottered as they 
guided him the second time across the lists. Rowena, 
descending from her station with a graceful and dignified 
step, was about to place the chaplet which she held in her 
hand upon the helmet of the champion, when the mar- 

25 shals exclaimed with one voice, *'It must not be thus — 
his head must be bare." The knight muttered faintly a 
few words, which were lost in the hollow of his helmet, but 
their purport seemed to be a desire that his casque might 
not be removed. 

30 Whether from love of form, or from curiosity, the mar- 
shals paid no attention to his expressions of reluctance, 
but unhelmed him by cutting the laces of his casque, and 
undoing the fastening of his gorget. When the helmet 
was removed, the well-formed, yet sunburned features of a 

35 young man of twenty-five were seen, amidst a profusion of 



The Tournament at Ashhy 107 

short fair hair. His countenance was as pale as death, 
and marked in one or two places with streaks of blood. 

Rowena had no sooner beheld him than she uttered a 
faint shriek; but at once summoning up the energy of her 
5 disposition, and compelling herself, as it were, to proceed, 
while her frame yet trembled with the violence of sudden 
emotion, she placed upon the drooping head of the victor 
the splendid chaplet which was the destined reward of the 
day, and pronounced, in a clear and distinct tone, these 

10 words: ''I bestow on thee this chaplet, Sir Knight, as the 
meed of valor assigned to this day's victor." Here she 
paused a moment, and then firmly added, ''And upon 
brows more worthy could a wreath of chivalry never be 
placed!" 

15 The knight stooped his head, and kissed the hand of the 
lovely Sovereign by whom his valor had been rewarded; 
and then, sinking yet farther forward, lay prostrate at her 
feet. 

There was a general consternation. Cedric, who had 

20 been struck mute by the sudden appearance of his ban- 
ished son, now rushed forward, as if to separate him from 
Rowena. But this had been already accomplished by the 
marshals of the field, who, guessing the cause of Ivanhoe's 
swoon, had hastened to undo his armor, and found that 

25 the head of a lance had penetrated his breastplate, and 
inflicted a wound in his side. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

"Ivanhoe" is a historical novel. A novel of this type is one that 
tells a story that is pure fiction but makes use of historical events 
as a setting for the plot. In regard to minor details, it is not a 
reason for adverse criticism if the author is not historically accurate. 

This story gives a splendid picture of society in England in the 
12th century. The enmity between Saxon and Norman is interestingly 
set forth; the treatment of the Jews is described; the mode of living, 
the home life, the customs and amusements of the people are all 



108 



Readings in Literature 



brought out incidental to the story. The impressions made are not all 
historically correct. For example, King Richard is placed in a far more 
heroic light than he deserved, but in the main the picture is correct 
and interesting and instructive. It will amply repay you to read this 
story in its entirety at home. 



1. What is meant by the Age of 

Chivalry? 

2. What were the divisions of so- 

ciety during the feudal times? 

3. How did they compel an observ- 

ance of the laws of chivalry? 



In this extract, where is that 
brought out? 

Compare the form of amuse- 
ment described in this selec- 
tion, with some of the mod- 
ern forms of recreation. 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 95, Hne 8— "Knight Tem- 
plar" — one of a religious and 
military order first estabhshed 
at Jerusalem in the early part 
of the 12th century, for the pro- 
tection of pilgrims and the Holy 
Sepnlcher. 

Page 98, line 22— " laissez aller"— a 
signal to start; Hterally, " let go." 



Page 99, line 18— "Beau-Seant"— 
was the name of the Templars' 
banner, which was half black, 
half white, to intimate that they 
were candid and fair towards 
Christians, but black and terri- 
ble towards infidels. 

Page 103, line 27— "chamfron"— 
the head armor of a horse. 



Sugg-estions for Home Reading 



Scott's "The Tahsman"— 
a story of Richard and the Third 
Crusade. 

Pyle's "Men of Iron" — an inter- 
esting account of the training 
of a youth of the nobility in 



preparation for knighthood dur- 
ing the feudal ages. 
Mitchell's "Hugh Wynne"— a 
historical novel making use of 
the Revolutionary period as a 
background for the story. 



ART AND THE BRONCO 

BY O. HENRY 

0. Henry was the nom-de-plume of Wilham S. Porter, who was 
born in North Carolina in 1865 and died in New York in 1910. He 
spent his boyhood on a cattle-ranch in Texas. Later he did news- 
paper work in the South and then continued that work in New 
York. 



Art and the Bronco 109 

Nearly all of his literary work was done in the form of short 
stories and sketches of life in the southwest and in New York city. 
His skill in handUng this form gained for him an immediate recog- 
nition as a master of short-story writing. His tales are perfectly 
constructed and told in vigorous picturesque language. In many 
of his stories, he gives an unexpected turn to the ending, the effect of 
which is delightful. 

Out of the wilderness had come a painter. Genius, 
whose coronations alone are democratic, had woven a 
chaplet of chaparral for the brow of Lonny Briscoe. Art, 
whose divine expression flows impartially from the finger- 
5 tips of a cowboy or a dilettante emperor, had chosen for 
a medium the Boy Artist of the San Saba. The outcome, 
seven feet by twelve of besmeared canvas, stood, gilt- 
framed, in the lobby of the Capitol. 

The legislature was in session, the capital city of that 

10 great Western state was enjoying the season of activity 
and profit that the congregation of the solons bestowed. 
The boarding-houses were corralling the easy dollars of 
the gamesome law-makers. The greatest state in the 
West, an empire in area and resources, had arisen and 

15 repudiated the old libel of barbarism, law breaking, and 
bloodshed. Order reigned within her borders. Life and 
property were as safe there, sir, as anywhere among the 
corrupt cities of the effete East. Pillow-shams, churches, 
strawberry feasts and habeas corpus flourished. With 

20 impunity might the tenderfoot ventilate his ''stovepipe" 
or his theories of culture. The arts and sciences received 
nurture and subsidy. And, therefore, it behooved the 
legislature of this great state to make appropriation for 
the purchase of Lonny Briscoe's immortal painting. 

25 Rarely has the San Saba country contributed to the 
spread of the fine arts. Its sons have excelled in the 
soldier graces, in the throw of the lariat, the manipulation 
of the esteemed .45, the intrepidity of the one-card draw, 



110 Readings in Literature 

and the nocturnal stimulation of towns from undue leth- 
argy; but, hitherto, it had not been famed as a stronghold 
of aesthetics. Lonny Briscoe's brush had removed that 
disability. Here, among the limestone rocks, the succu- 
5 lent cactus, and the drought-parched grass of that arid 
valley, had been born the Boy Artist. Why he came to 
woo art is beyond postulation. Beyond doubt, some 
spore of the afflatus must have sprung up within him in 
spite of the desert soil of San Saba. The tricksy spirit of 

10 creation must have incited him to attempted expression 
and then have sat hilarious among the white-hot sands of 
the valley, watching its mischievous work. For Lonny's 
picture, viewed as a thing of art, was something to have 
driven away dull care from the bosoms of the critics. 

15 The painting — one might almost say panorama — was 
designed to portray a typical Western scene, interest cul- 
minating in a central animal figure, that of a stampeding 
steer, life-size, wild-eyed, fiery, breaking away in a mad 
rush from the herd that, close-ridden by a typical cow- 

20 puncher, occupied a position somewhat in the right back- 
ground of the picture. The landscape presented fitting 
and faithful accessories. Chaparral, mesquit and pear 
were distributed in just proportions. A Spanish dagger- 
plant, with its waxen blossoms in a creamy aggregation 

25 as large as a water-bucket, contributed floral beauty and 
variety. The distance was undulating prairie, bisected 
by stretches of the intermittent streams peculiar to the 
region lined with the rich green of live-oak and water-elm. 
A richly mottled rattlesnake lay coiled beneath a pale 

30 green clump of prickly pear in the foreground. A third 
of the canvas was ultramarine and lake white — the typical 
Western sky and the flying clouds, rainless and feathery. 
Between two plastered pillars in the commodious hall- 
way near the door of the chamber of representatives stood 

35 the painting. Citizens and lawmakers passed there by 



Art and the Bronco 111 

twos and groups and sometimes crowds to gaze upon it. 
Many — perhaps a majority of them — had Uved the prairie 
life and recalled easily the familiar scene. Old cattlemen 
stood, reminiscent and candidly pleased, chatting with 
5 brothers of former camps and trails of the days it brought 
back to mind. Art critics were few in the town, and there 
was heard none of that jargon of color, perspective, and 
feeling such as the East loves to use as a curb and a rod 
to the pretensions of the artist. 'Twas a great picture, 

10 most of them agreed, admiring the gilt frame — larger than 
any they had ever seen. 

Senator Kinney was the picture's champion and 
sponsor. It was he who so often stepped forward and 
asserted, with the voice of a bronco-buster, that it would 

15 be a lasting blot, sir, upon the name of this great state if 
it should decline to recognize in a proper manner the 
genius that had so brilliantly transferred to imperishable 
canvas a scene so typical of the great sources of our 
state's wealth and prosperity, land and — er — live-stock. 

20 Senator Kinney represented a section of the state in 
the extreme west — four hundred miles from the San Saba 
country— but the true lover of art is not limited by metes 
and bounds. Nor was Senator Mullens, representing the 
San Saba country, lukewarm in his belief that the state 

25 should purchase the painting of his constituent. He was 
advised that the San Saba country was unanimous in its 
admiration of the great painting by one of its own deni- 
zens. Hundreds of connoisseurs had straddled their 
broncos and ridden miles to view it before its removal to 

30 the capital. Senator Mullens desired reelection, and he 
knew the importance of the San Saba vote. He also 
knew that with the help of Senator Kinney — who was a 
power in the legislature — the thing could be put through. 
Now, Senator Kinney had an irrigation bill that he wanted 

35 passed for the benefit of his own section, and he knew 



112 Readings in Literature 

Senator Mullens could render him valuable aid and in- 
formation, the San Saba country already enjoying the 
benefits of similar legislation. With these interests hap- 
pily dovetailed, wonder at the sudden interest in art at 
5 the state capital must, necessarily, be small. Few artists 
have uncovered their first picture to the world under 
happier auspices than did Lonny Briscoe. 

Senators Kinney and Mullens came to an understand- 
ing in the matter of irrigation and art while partaking of 

10 long drinks in the cafe of the Empire Hotel. 

^'H'm!" said Senator Kinney, ''I don't know. I'm 
no art critic, but it seems to me the thing won't work. 
It looks like the worst kind of a chromo to me. I don't 
want to cast any reflections upon the artistic talent of 

15 your constituent. Senator, but I, mj^self, wouldn't give six 
bits for the picture — without the frame. How are you 
going to cram a thing like that down the throat of a legis- 
lature that kicks about a little item in the expense bill of 
six hundred and eighty-one dollars for rubber erasers for 

20 only one term? It's wasting time. I'd like to help you, 
Mullens, but they'd laugh us out of the Senate chamber 
if we were to try it." 

''But you don't get the point," said Senator Mullens, 
in his deliberate tones, tapping Kinney's glass with his 

25 long forefinger. "I have my own doubts as to what the 
picture is intended to represent, a bull-fight or a Japanese 
allegory, but I want this legislature to make an appropria- 
tion to purchase. Of course, the subject of the picture 
should have been in the state historical line, but it's too 

30 late to have the paint scraped off and changed. The 
state won't miss the money and the picture can be stowed 
away in a lumber-room where it won't annoy anyone. 
Now, here's the point to work on, leaving art to look after 
itself — the chap that painted the picture is the grandson 

35 of Lucien Briscoe." 



Art and the Bronco 113 

"Say it again," said Kinney, leaning his head thought- 
fully. " Of the old, original Lucien Briscoe? " 

" Of him. ' The man who,' you know. The man who 

carved the state out of the wilderness. The man who 

5 settled the Indians. The man who cleaned out the horse 

thieves. The man who refused the crown. The state's 

favorite son. Do you see the point now?" 

''Wrap up the picture," said Kinney. ''It's as good 
as sold. Why didn't you say that at first, instead of 

10 philandering along about art? I'll resign my seat in the 
Senate and go back to chain-carrying for the county sur- 
veyor the day I can't make this state buy a picture calci- 
mined by a grandson of Lucien Briscoe. Did you ever 
hear of a special appropriation for the purchase of a home 

15 for the daughter of One-Eyed Smothers? Well, that went 
through like a motion to adjourn, and old One-Eyed never 
killed half as many Indians as Briscoe did. About what 
figure had you and the calciminer agreed upon to sandbag 
the treasury for?" 

20 "I thought," said Mullens, "that maybe five hun- 
dred " 

"Five hundred!" interrupted Kinney, as he hammered 
on his glass with a lead pencil and looked around for a 
waiter. "Only five hundred for a red steer on the hoof 

25 delivered by a grandson of Lucien Briscoe ! Where's your 
state pride, man? Two thousand is what it'll be. You'll 
introduce the bill and I'll get up on the floor of the Senate 
and wave the scalp of every Indian old Lucien ever mur- 
dered. Let's see, there was something else proud and 

30 foolish he did, wasn't there? Oh, yes; he declined all 
emoluments and benefits he was entitled to. Refused his 
head-right and veteran donation certificates. Could have 
been governor, but wouldn't. Declined a pension. Now's 
the state's chance to pay up. It'll have to take the pic- 

35 ture, but then it deserves some punishment for keeping 



114 Readings in Literature 

the Briscoe family waiting so long. We'll bring this 
thing up about the middle of the month, after the tax bill 
is settled. Now, Mullens, you send over, as soon as you 
can, and get me the figures on the cost of those irrigation 
5 ditches and the statistics about the increased production 
per acre. I'm going to need you when that bill of mine 
comes up. I reckon we'll be able to pull along pretty well 
together this session and maybe others to come, eh, 
Senator?" 

10 Thus did Fortune elect to smile upon the Boy Artist of 
the San Saba. Fate had already done her share when she 
arranged his atoms in the cosmogony of creation as the 
grandson of Lucien Briscoe. 

The original Briscoe had been a pioneer both as to 

15 territorial occupation and in certain acts prompted by a 
great and simple heart. He had been one of the first 
settlers and crusaders against the wild forces of nature, 
the savage and the shallow politician. His name and 
memory were revered equally with any upon the list com- 

20 prising Houston, Boone, Crockett, Clark, and Green. He 
had lived simply, independently, and unvexed by ambi- 
tion. Even a less shrewd man than Senator Kinney 
could have prophesied that his state would hasten to honor 
and reward his grandson, come out of the chaparral at 

25 even so late a day. 

And so, before the great picture by the door of the 
chamber of representatives at frequent times for many 
days could be found the breezy, robust form of Senator 
Kinney and be heard his clarion voice reciting the past 

30 deeds of Lucien Briscoe in connection with the handiwork 
of his grandson. Senator IMullens' work was more sub- 
dued in sight and sound, but directed along identical 
lines. 

Then, as the day for the introduction of the bill for 

35 appropriation draws nigh, up from the San Saba country 



Art and the Bronco 115 

rides Lonny Briscoe and a loyal lobby of cowpunchers, 
bronco-back, to boost the cause of art and glorify the 
name of friendship, for Lonny is one of them, a knight of 
the stirrup and chaparreras, as handy with the lariat and 
5 .45 as he is with brush and palette. 

On a March afternoon the lobby dashed, with a whoop, 
into town. The cowpunchers had adjusted their garb 
suitably from that prescribed for the range to the more 
conventional requirements of town. They had conceded 

10 their leather chaparreras and transferred their six-shooters 
and belts from their persons to the horns of their saddles. 
Among them rode Lonny, a youth of twenty-three, brown, 
solemn-faced, ingenuous, bow-legged, reticent, bestriding 
Hot Tamales, the most sagacious cow pony west of the 

15 Mississippi. Senator Mullens had informed him of the 
bright prospects of the situation; had even mentioned — • 
so great was his confidence in the capable Kinney — the 
price that the state would, in all likelihood, pay. It 
seemed to Lonny that fame and fortune were in his hands. 

20 Certainly, a spark of the divine fire was in the little brown 
centaur's breast, for he was counting the two thousand 
dollars as but a means to future development of his talent. 
Some day he would paint a picture even greater than this 
— one, say, twelve feet by twenty, full of scope and atmos- 

25 phere and action. 

During the three days that yet intervened before the 
coming of the date fixed for the introduction of the bill, 
the centaur lobby did valiant service. Coatless, spurred, 
weather-tanned, full of enthusiasm expressed in bizarre 

30 terms, they loafed in front of the painting with tireless 
zeal. Reasoning not unshrewdly, they estimated that 
their comments upon its fidelity to nature would be re- 
ceived as expert evidence. Loudly they praised the skill 
of the painter whenever there were ears near to which 

35 such evidence might be profitably addressed. Lem Perry, 



116 Readings in Literature 

the leader of the claque, had a somewhat set speech, being 
uninventive in the construction of new phrases. 

''Look at that two-year-old, now," he would say, wav- 
ing a cinnamon-brown hand toward the salient point of 
5 the picture. "Why, dang my hide, the critter's alive. I 
can jest hear him, 'lumpety-lump,' a-cuttin' away from 
the herd, pretendin' he's skeered. He's a mean scamp, 
that there steer. Look at his eyes a-wallin' and his tail 
a-wavin'. He's true and nat'ral to life. He's jest han- 

10 kerin' fur a cow pony to round him up and send him 
scootin' back to the bunch. Dang my hide! jest look at 
that tail of his. a-wavin'. Never knowed a steer to wave 
his tail any other way, dang my hide ef I did." 

Jud Shelby, while admitting the excellence of the steer, 

15 resolutely confined himself to open admiration of the 
landscape, to the end that the entire picture receive its 
meed of praise. 

''That piece of range," he declared, "is a dead ringer 
for Dead Hoss Valley. Same grass, same lay of the land, 

20 same old Whipperwill Creek skallyhootin' in and out of 
them motts of timber. Them buzzards on the left is 
circlin' 'round over Sam Kildrake's old paint hoss that 
killed hisself over-drinkin' on a hot day. You can't see 
the hoss for that mott of ellums on the creek, but he's 

25 thar. Anybody that was goin' to look for Dead Hoss 
Valley and come across this picture, why, he'd jest light 
off'n his bronco and hunt a place to camp. " 

Skinny Rogers, wedded to comedy, conceived a com- 
plimentary little piece of acting that never failed to make 

30 an impression. Edging quite near to the picture, he 
would suddenly, at favorable moments emit a piercing 
and awful "Yi-yi!" leap high and away, coming down 
with a great stamp of heels and whirring of rowels upon 
the stone-flagged floor. 

35 "Jeeming Christopher!" — so ran his lines — "thought 



Art and the Bronco 117 

that rattler was a gin-u-ine one. Ding baste my skin if 
I didn't. Seemed to me I heard him rattle. Look at the 
blamed, unconverted insect a-layin' under that pear. 
Little more, and somebody would a-been snake-bit." 
5 With these artful dodges, contributed by Lonny's 
faithful coterie, with the sonorous Kinney perpetually 
sounding the picture's merits, and with the solvent pres- 
tige of the pioneer Briscoe covering it like a precious var- 
nish, it seemed that the San Saba country could not fail 

10 to add a reputation as an art center to its well-known 
superiority in steer-roping contests and achievements 
with the precarious busted flush. Thus was created for 
the picture an atmosphere, due rather to externals than 
to the artist's brush, but through it the people seemed to 

15 gaze with more of admiration. There was a magic in the 
name of Briscoe that counted high against faulty tech- 
nique and crude coloring. The old Indian fighter and 
wolf slayer would have smiled grimly in his happy hunt- 
ing grounds had he known that his dilettante ghost was 

20 thus figuring as an art patron two generations after his 
uninspired existence. 

Came the day when the Senate was expected to pass 
the bill of Senator Mullens appropriating two thousand 
dollars for the purchase of the picture. The gallery of 

25 the Senate chamber was early preempted by Lonny and 
the San Saba lobby. In the front row of chairs they sat, 
wild-haired, self-conscious, jingling, creaking, and rattling, 
subdued by the majesty of the council hall. 

The bill was introduced, went to the second reading, 

30 and then Senator Mullens spoke for it dryly, tediously, 
and at length. Senator Kinney then arose, and the wel- 
kin seized the bellrope preparatory to ringing. Oratory 
was at that time a hving thing; the world had not quite 
come to measure its questions by geometry and the multi- 

35 plication table. It was the day of the silver tongue, the 



118 Readings in Literature 

sweeping gesture, the decorative apostrophe, the moving 
peroration. 

The Senator spoke. The San Saba contingent sat, 
breathing hard, in the gallery, its disordered hair hanging 
5 down to its eyes, its sixteen-ounce hats shifted restlessly 
from knee to knee. Below, the distinguished Senators 
either lounged at their desks with the abandon of proven 
statesmanship or maintained correct attitudes indicative 
of a first term. 

10 Senator Kinney spoke for an hour. History was his 
theme — history mitigated by patriotism and sentiment. 
He referred casually to the picture in the outer hall — it 
was unnecessary, he said, to dilate upon its merits — the 
Senators had seen for themselves. The painter of the 

15 picture was the grandson of Lucien Briscoe. Then came 
the word-pictures of Briscoe's life set forth in thrilling 
colors. His rude and venturesome life, his simple-minded 
love for the commonwealth he helped to upbuild, his con- 
tempt for rewards and praise, his extreme and sturdy 

20 independence, and the great service he had rendered the 
state. The subject of the oration was Lucien Briscoe; 
the painting stood in the background serving simply as a 
means, now happily brought forward, through which the 
state might bestow a tardy recompense upon the descend- 

25 ant of its favorite son. Frequent enthusiastic applause 
from the Senators testified to the well reception of the 
sentiment. 

The bill passed without an opposing vote. To-mor- 
row it would be taken up by the House. Already was it 

30 fixed to glide through that body on rubber tires. Bland- 
ford, Grayson and Plummer, all wheel-horses and orators, 
and provided with plentiful memoranda concerning the 
deeds of pioneer Briscoe, had agreed to furnish the 
motive power. 

35 The San Saba lobby and its protege stumbled awk- 



Art and the Bronco 119 

wardly down the stairs and out into the Capitol yard. 
Then they herded closely and gave one yell of triumph. 
But one of them — Buck-kneed Summers it was — hit the 
key with the thoughtful remark: 
5 ''She cut the mustard," he said, ''all right. I reckon 
they're goin' to buy Lon's steer. I ain't right much on 
the parlyment'ry, but I gather that's what the signs 
added up. But she seems to me, Lonny, the argyment 
ran principal to grandfather, instead of paint. It's rea- 

10 sonable calculatin' that you want to be glad you got the 
Briscoe brand on you, my son." 

That remark clinched in Lonny's mind an unpleasant, 
vague suspicion to the same effect. His reticence in- 
creased, and he gathered grass from the ground, chewing 

16 it pensively. The picture as a picture had been humili- 
atingly absent from the Senator's arguments. The 
painter had been held up as a grandson, pure and simple. 
While this was gratifying on certain lines, it made art look 
little and slab-sided. The Boy Artist was thinking. 

20 The hotel Lonny stopped at was near the Capitol. 
It was near to the one o'clock dinner hour when the ap- 
propriation had been passed by the Senate. The hotel 
clerk told Lonny that a famous artist from New York had 
arrived in town that day and was in the hotel. He was 

25 on his way westward to New Mexico to study the effect 
of sunlight upon the ancient walls of the Zunis. Modern 
stone reflects light. Those ancient building materials 
absorb it. The artist wanted this effect in a picture he 
was painting and was traveling two thousand miles to 

30 get it. 

Lonny sought this man out after dinner and told his 
story. The artist was an unhealthy man, kept alive by 
genius and indifference to life. He went with Lonny to 
the Capitol and stood there before the picture. The 

35 artist pulled his beard and looked unhappy. 



120 Readings in Literature 

"Should like to have your sentiments," said Lonny, 
"just as they run out of the pen." 

"It's the way they'll come," said the painter man. 

"I took three different kinds of medicine before dinner — 

5 by the tablespoonf ul. The taste still lingers. I am primed 

for telling the truth. You "want to know if the picture 

is, or if it isn't?" 

" Right," said Lonny. " Is it wool or cotton? Should 
I paint some more or cut it out and ride herd a-plenty?" 

10 "I heard rumor during pie," said the artist, "that the 
state is about to pay you two thousand dollars for this 
picture." 

"It's passed the Senate," said Lonny, "and the House 
rounds it up to-morrow." 

15 ''That's lucky," said the pale man. "Do you carry 
a rabbit's foot?" 

"No," said Lonny, "but it seems I had a grandfather. 
He's considerable mixed up in the color scheme. It took 
me a year to paint that picture. Is she entirely awful or 

20 not? Some says now, that that steer's tail ain't badly 
drawed. They think it is proportioned nice. Tell me." 
The artist glanced at Lonny's wiry figure and nut- 
brown skin. Something stirred him to a passing irri- 
tation. 

25 "For Art's sake, son," he said, fractiously, "don't 
spend any more money for paint. It isn't a picture at 
all. It's a gun. You hold up the state with it, if you 
like, and get your two thousand, but don't get in front of 
any more canvas. Live under it. Buy a couple of hun- 

30 dred ponies with the money — I'm told they are that cheap 
— and ride, ride, ride. Fill your lungs and eat and sleep 
and be happy. No more pictures. You look healthy. 
That's genius. Cultivate it." He looked at his watch. 
"Twenty minutes to three. Four capsules and one tab- 

35 let at three. That's all you wanted to know, isn't it?" 



Art and the Bronco 121 

At three o'clock the cowpunchers rode up for Lonny, 
bringing Hot Tamales, saddled. Traditions must be ob- 
served. To celebrate the passage of the bill by the 
Senate the gang must ride wildly through the town, 
5 creating uproar and excitement. Liquor must be par- 
taken of, the suburbs shot up, and the glory of the San 
Saba country vociferously proclaimed. A part of the 
programme had been carried out in the saloons on the 
way up. 

10 Lonny mounted Hot Tamales, the accomplished little 
beast prancing with fire and intelligence. He was glad 
to feel Lonny' s bow-legged grip against his ribs again. 
Lonny was his friend, and he was willing to do things for 
him. 

15 ''Come on, boys," said Lonny, urging Hot Tamales 
into a gallop with his knees. With a whoop the inspired 
lobby tore after him through the dust. Lonny led his 
cohorts straight for the Capitol. With a wild yell, the 
gang indorsed his now evident attention of riding into it. 

20 Hooray for San Saba! 

Up six broad, limestone steps clattered the broncos 
of the cowpunchers. Into the resounding hallway they 
pattered, scattering in dismay those passing on foot. 
Lonny, in the lead, shoved Hot Tamales direct for the 

25 great picture. At that hour a downpouring, soft light 
from the second story windows bathed the big canvas. 
Against the darker background of the hall the painting 
stood out with valuable effect. In spite of the defects of 
the art you could almost fancy that you gazed out upon 

30 a landscape. You might well flinch a step from the con- 
vincing figure of the life-size steer stampeding across the 
grass. Perhaps it thus seemed to Hot Tamales. The 
scene was in his line. Perhaps he only obeyed the will 
of his rider. His ears pricked up; he snorted. Lonny 

35 leaned forward in the saddle and elevated his elbows, 



122 Readings in Literature 

winglike. Thus signals the cowpuncher to his steed to 
launch himself full speed ahead. Did Hot Tamales fancy 
he saw a steer, red and cavorting, that should be headed 
off and driven back to herd? There was a fierce clatter 
5 of hoofs, a rush, a gathering of steely-flanked muscles, a 
leap to the jerk of the bridle rein, and Hot Tamales, with 
Lonny bending low in the saddle to dodge the top of the 
frame, ripped through the great canvas like a shell from 
a mortar, leaving the cloth hanging in ragged shreds 

10 about a monstrous hole. 

Quickly, Lonny pulled up his pony, and rounded the 
pillars. Spectators came running, too astounded to add 
speech to the commotion. The sergeant-at-arms of the 
House came forth, frowned, looked ominous, and then 

15 grinned. Many of the legislators crowded out to observe 
the tumult. Lonny's cowpunchers were striken to silent 
horror by his mad deed. 

Senator Kinney happened to be among the earliest to 
emerge. Before he could speak Lonny leaned in his sad- 

20 die as Hot Tamales pranced, pointed his quirt at the 
Senator, and said, calmly : 

^'That was a fine speech you made to-day, mister, but 
you might as well let up on that 'propriation business. I 
ain't askin' the state to give me nothin'. I thought I had 

25 a picture to sell to it, but it wasn't one. You said a heap 
of things about Grandfather Briscoe that makes me kind 
of proud I'm his grandson. Well, the Briscoe's ain't 
takin' presents from the state yet. Anybody can have 
the frame that wants it. Hit her up, boys." 

30 Away scuttled the San Saba delegation out of the hall, 
down the steps, along the dusty street. 

Half way to the San Saba country they camped that 
night. At bedtime Lonny stole away from the campfire 
and sought Hot Tamales, placidly eating grass at the end 

35 of his stake rope. Lonny hung upon his neck, and his art 



Art and the Bronco 



123 



aspirations went forth forever in one long, regretful sigh. 
But as he thus made renunciation his breath formed a 
word or two. 

''You was the only one, Tamales, what seen anything 
5 in it. It did look like a steer, didn't it, old hoss?" 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

Try to find out from your study of this selection, how the author 
creates the proper atmosphere for his story. To do this, point out any 
of the characteristics of the country and the people of the ranches of 
the Southwest, brought out incidentally in this story. An author's 
ability to do this sort of thing without interrupting the action of his 
story adds greatly to the effectiveness of the tale. 



Note carefully the construction 

of this story. 
The first group of paragraphs has 

to do with the picture. 

1. In these paragraphs, what 

impression of the paint- 
ing does the author give 
us? 

2. From the description in the 

fourth paragraph, try, in 
your imagination, to see 
the picture. 
Describe it, in your own 
way. 

3. a. What do the cattlemen 

think of it? 

b. Explain the reasons for 

their opinions. 

c. Why does the writer tell us 

that there were few art 

critics in town? 
The second group of paragraphs 
discloses why the picture is at 
the State Capitol. 

4. a. Why did Senator Kinney 

want the state to buy 
the picture? 



b. What was the reason for 
Senator Mullens' inter- 
est? 

5. In the sixth paragraph, 

there is no direct de- 
scription of Senator Kin- 
ney. From what it says 
there, however, what can 
you tell about his char- 
acter and mannerisms? 
The next group of three para- 
graphs tells of Lucien Bris- 
coe. 

6. What made Senator Kin- 

ney think that he could 
succeed in making the 
Legislature buy the pic- 
ture? 

7. In your own words, de- 

scribe Lucien Briscoe. 
The next group of paragraphs 
tells of the arrival of Lonny's 
friends to act as a lobby. 

a. What is a lobby? 

b. How does this lobby at- 

tempt to influence opinion 
concerning the picture? 



124 



Readings in Literature 



c. What does Lem Perry say- 

about the picture? Jud 
Selby? Skinny Rogers? 

d. What impression does the 

author make on you by 
the introduction of these 
three characters? 
The next paragraph concerns it- 
self with the passage of the bill. 
8. a. What is the effect on Lon- 
ny of Senator Kinney's 
speech? 
b. What confirms the suspi- 
cions that have been 
aroused? 
The next paragraphs have to do 
with the art critic. 



9. a. Why is the critic necessary 
to the story? 

b. Describe him. 
The next paragraph tells of the 

final scene at the Capitol. 

10. Point out the cUmax of the 

story. 

1 1 . Why did Lonny destroy the 

picture? 

12. Compare Lonny with his 

grandfather, Lucien Bris- 
coe. What traits of 
character are common to 
both? 

13. What is the effect of the 

closing sentence of the 
story? 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 109, hne 3 — "chaparral" — a 
thicket of low evergreen oaks. 

Page 109, Une 19 — ''habeas cor- 
pus" — ^in law, a writ having for 
its purpose the bringing of a 
person before the court. 

Page 110, line 8 — "spore of the 
afflatus" — a germ of divine in- 
spiration. 

Page 110, Une 22— "mesquit"— a 
rich native grass in Western 
Texas, so-called from its grow- 
ing in company with the mes- 
quit tree. 

Page 114, line 20— "Houston "— 



Sam Houston was born in Vir- 
ginia in 1793. He was com- 
mander-in-chief of the Texan 
forces during their struggle for 
independence. 

"Boone " — Daniel Boone was born 
in Pennsylvania in 1735. He 
was one of the pioneers in the 
settlement of Kentucky. He 
was a famous Indian fighter. 

"Crockett" — 1786; an American 
pioneer and politician. 

"Clark"— 1770; an explorer. At 
one time governor of the prov- 
ince of Louisiana. 



Suggestions for Home Reading 



Churchill's "The Crossing" — an 
accurate, instructive and inter- 
esting account of the early days 
of Kentucky. 

White's "The Blazed Trail"— a 



story of the lumber regions of 
Michigan, a stirring tale of 
primitive Hfe. 
Monroe's "Dorymates" — a story 
of the New England whalers. 



The Football Game 125 

THE FOOTBALL GAME 

(From 'The Varmint") 

BY OWEN JOHNSON 

Owen Johnson, the author of this story, is alive at the present 
time. He has done newspaper and magazine work and is a novel- 
ist and dramatist of distinction. He has written a number of short 
stories of the school life at Lawrenceville. These have been col- 
lected and published under the following titles: "The Prodigious 
Hickey," '^The Tennessee Shad" and the "Humming Bird." He 
has written one story of college hfe, "Stover at Yale." All of these 
stories are characterized by a deep and sympathetic understanding 
of boys. They compare favorably with the classics of school life, 
the "Tom Brown" stories. The Johnson stories are more likely to 
interest the boys and girls of to-day because they deal with a system 
that is more readily understood by them. 

The extract given here is taken from the long story of Lawrence- 
ville school life, "The Varmint." In this story the author traces 
the career of "Dink" Stover from his entrance as an obstreperous 
freshman to its close. In a very interesting way we are shown how 
the various influences work on the pupils for good and evil. It is 
to be hoped that you will read the complete story at home. 

Saturday came all too soon and with it the arrival of 
the stocky Andover eleven. Dink dressed and went 
slowly across the campus — every step seemed an effort. 
Everywhere was an air of seriousness and apprehension, 
5 strangely contrasted to the gay ferment that usually an- 
nounced a big game. He felt a hundred eyes on him as 
he went and knew what was in every one's mind. What 
would happen when Ned Banks would have to retire and 
he, little Dink Stover, weighing one hundred and thirty- 
10 eight, would have to go forth to stand at the end of the 
line. And because Stover had learned the lesson of foot- 
ball, the sacrifice for an idea, he too felt not fear but a sort 
of despair that the hopes of the great school would have 



126 Readings in Literature 

to rest upon him, little Dink Stover, who weighed only- 
one hundred and thirty-eight pounds. 

He went quietly to the Upper, his eyes on the ground 
like a guilty man, picking his way through the crowds of 
5 Fifth Formers, who watched him pass with critical looks, 
and up the heavy stairs to Garry Cockrell's room, where 
the team sat quietly listening to final instructions. He 
took his seat silently in an obscure corner, stud3dng the 
stern faces about him, hearing nothing of Mr. Ware's 
10 staccato periods, his eyes irresistibly drawn to his cap- 
tain, wondering how suddenly older he looked and 
grave. 

By his side Ned Banks was listening stolidly and 
Charlie De Soto, twisting a paper-weight in his nervous 
15 fingers, fidgeting on his chair with the longing for the 
fray. 

"That's all," said the low voice of Garry Cockrell. 
"You know what you have to do. Go down to Charlie's 
room; I want a few words with Stover." 
20 They went sternly and quickly, Mr. Ware with them. 
Dink was alone, standing stiff and straight, his heart 
thumping violently, waiting for his captain to speak. 

''How do you feel?" 

"I'm ready, sir." 
25 "I don't know when you'll get in the game — probably 
before the first half is over," said Cockrell slowly. " We're 
going to pat up to you a pretty hard proposition, young- 
ster." He came nearer, laying his hand on Stover's 
shoulder. ''I'm not going to talk nerve to you, young 
30 bulldog, I don't need to. I've watched you and I know 
the stuff that's in you." 

"Thank you, sir." 

"Not but what you'll need it — more than you've ever 
needed it before. You've no right in this game." 
35 "I know it, sir." 



The Football Game 127 

''Tough McCarty won't be able to help you out much. 
He's got the toughest man in the line. Everything's 
coming at you, my boy, and you've got to stand it off, 
somehow. Now, listen once more. It's a game for the 
5 long head, for the cool head. You've got to think quicker, 
you've got to outthink every man on the field and you 
can do it. And remember this; no matter what happens 
never let up — get your man back of the line if you can, get 
him twenty-five yards beyond you, get him on the one- 

10 yard line, — but get him!" 
''Yes, sir." 

"And now one thing more. There's all sorts of ways 
you can play the game. You can charge in like a bull 
and kill yourself off in ten minutes, but that won't do. 

15 You can go in and make grandstand plays and get carried 
off the field, but that won't do. My boy, you've got to 
last out the game." 
"I see, sir." 
" Remember there's a bigger thing than yourself you're 

20 fighting for, Stover — it's the school, the old school. Now, 
when you're on the side-lines don't lose any time; watch 
your men, find out their tricks, see if they look up or 
change their footing when they start for an end run. 
Everything is going to count. Now, come on." 

25 They joined the eleven below and presently, in a com- 
pact body, went out and through Memorial and the 
chapel, where suddenly the field appeared and a great 
roar went up from the school. 
"All ready," said the captain. 

30 They broke into a trot and swept up to the cheering 
mass. Dink remembered seeing the Tennessee Shad, in 
his shirt sleeves, frantically leading the school and think- 
ing how funny he looked. Then some one pulled a 
blanket over him and he was camped among the substi- 

35 tutes, peering out at the gridiron where already the two 



128 Readings in Literature 

elevens were sweeping back and forth in vigorous signal 
drill. 

He looked eagerly at the Andover eleven. They were 
big, rangy fellows and their team worked with a precision 
5 and machine-like rush that the red and black team did 
not have. 

"Trouble with us h/' said the voice of Fatty Harris, 
at his elbow, ''our team's never gotten together. The 
fellows would rather slug each other than the enemy." 
10 ''Gee, that fellow at tackle is a monster," said Dink, 
picking out McCarty's opponent. 

"Look at Turkey Reiter and the Waladoo Bird," con- 
tinued Fatty Harris. "Bad blood! And there's Tough 
McCarty and King Lentz. We're not together, I tell 
15 you! We're hanging apart!" 

"Lord, will they ever begin!" said Dink, blowing on 
his hands that had suddenly gone limp and clammy. 

"We've won the toss," said another voice. "There's 
a big wind; we'll take sides." 
20 "Andover's kick-off," said Fatty Harris. 

Stover sunk his head in his blanket, waiting for the 

awful moment to end. Then a whistle piped and he 

raised his head again. The ball had landed short, into 

the arms of Butcher Stevens, who plunged ahead for a 

25 slight gain and went do^vn under a shock of blue jerseys. 

Stover felt the warm blood return, the sinking feeling 
in the pit of his stomach left him; he felt amazed, a great 
calm settling over him, as though he had jumped from out 
his own body. 
30 "If Flash Condit can once get loose," he said quietly, 
"he'll score. They ought to try a dash through tackle 
before the others warm up. Good!" 

As if in obedience to his thought Flash Condit 

came rushing through the line, between end and 

35 tackle, but the Andover left halfback, who was alert, 



The Football Game 129 

caught him and brought him to the ground after a gain 
of ten yards. 

'Tretty fast, that chap," thought Dink. "Too bad. 
Flash was almost clear." 
5 '' Who tackled him? " asked Fatty Harris. 

''Goodhue," came the answer from somewhere. 
''They say he runs the hundred in ten and a fifth." 

The next try was not so fortunate, the blue line 

charged quicker and stopped Cheyenne Baxter without 

10 a gain. Charlie De Soto tried a quarter-back run and 

some one broke through between the Waladoo Bird and 

Turkey Reiter. 

"Not together — not together," said the dismal voice 
of Fatty Harris. 
15 The signal was given for a punt and the ball lifted in 
the air went soaring down the field on the force of the 
wind. It was too long a punt for the ends to cover, and 
the Andover back with a good start came twisting 
through the territory of Ned Banks who had been 
20 blocked off by his opponent. 

"Watch that Andover end, Stover," said Mr. Ware. 
"Study out his methods." 

"All right, sir," said Dink, who had watched no one 
else. 
25 He waited breathless for the first shock of the Andover 
attack. It came with a rush, compact and solid, and 
swept back the Lawrenceville left side for a good eight 
yards. 

"Good-by!" said Harris in a whisper. 
30 Dink began to whistle, moving down the field, watch- 
ing the backs. Another machine-like advance and an- 
other big gain succeeded. 

"They'll wake up," said Dink solemnly to himself. 
"They'll stop 'em in a minute." 
35 But they did not stop. Rush by rush, irresistibly the 



130 Readings in Literature 

blue left their own territory and passed the forty-five 
yard line of Lawrenceville. Then a fumble occurred and 
the ball went again with the gale far out of danger, over 
the heads of the Andover backs who had misjudged its 
5 treacherous course. 

''Lucky we've got the wind," said Dink, calm, amid 
the roaring cheers about him. ''Gee, that Andover 
attack's going to be hard to stop. Banks is beginning to 
limp." 
10 The blue, after a few quick advances, formed and 
swept out toward Garry Cockrell's end. 

"Three yards lost," said Dink grimly. "They won't 
try him often. Funny they're not onto Banks. Lord, 
how they can gain through the center of the line. First 
15 down again." Substitute and coach, the frantic school, 
alumni over from Princeton, kept up a constant storm of 
shouts and entreaties : 

"Oh, get together!" 

"Throw 'em back!" 
20 "Hold 'em!" 

" First down again ! ' ' 

"Hold 'em, Lawrenceville!" 

"Don't let them carry it seventy yards!" 

"Get the jump!" 
25 ' ' There they go again ! ' ' 

"Ten yards around Banks!" 

Stover alone, squatting opposite the line of play, 
moving as it moved, coldly critical, studied each indi- 
viduality. 
30 "Funny nervous little tricks that Goodhue's got — 
blows on his hands — does that mean he takes the ball? 
No, all a bluff. What's he do when he does take it? 
Quiet and looks at the ground. When he doesn't take 
it he tries to pretend he does. I'll tuck that away. He's 
35 my man. Seems to switch in just as the interference 



The Football Game 131 

strikes the end about ten feet beyond tackle, running low — 
Banks is playing too high; better, perhaps, to run in on 
'em now and then before they get started. There's go- 
ing to be trouble there in a minute. The fellows aren't 
5 up on their toes yet — what is the matter, anyhow? 
Tough's getting boxed right along, he ought to play out 
further, I should think. Hello, some one fumbled again. 
Who's got it? Looks like Garry. No, they recovered it 
themselves — no, they didn't. Lord, what a butter-fingered 

10 lot; why doesn't he get it? He has — Charlie De Soto — 
clear field — can he make it? — He ought to — where's that 
Goodhue? — Looks like a safe lead; he'll make the twenty- 
yard line at least — yes, fully that, if he doesn't stumble 
— there's that Goodhue now — some one ought to block 

15 him off — good work — that's it — that makes the touch- 
down — lucky — very lucky ! ' ' 

Some one hit him a terrific clap on the shoulder. He 
looked up in surprise to behold Fatty Harris dancing 
about like a crazed man. The air seemed all arms, hats 

20 were rising like startled coveys of birds. Some one flung 
his arms around him and hugged him. He flung him off 
almost indignantly. What were they thinking of — that 
was only one touchdown — four points — what was that 
against that blue team and the wind at their backs, too. 

25 One touchdown wasn't going to win the game. 

''Why do they get so excited?" said Dink Stover to 
John Stover, watching deliberately the ball soaring be- 
tween the goal posts; ''6 to — they think it's all over. 
Now's the rub." 

30 Mr. Ware passed near him. He was quiet, too, seeing 
far ahead. 

''Better keep warmed up, Stover," he said. 
"Biting his nails, that's a funny trick for a master,^' 
thought Dink. "He oughtn't to be nervous. That 

35 doesn't do any good." 



132 Readings in Literature 

The shouts of exultation were soon hushed; with the 
advantage of the wind the game quickly assumed a dif- 
ferent complexion. Andover had found the weak end 
and sent play after play at Banks, driving him back for 
5 long advances. 

''Take off your sweater," said Mr. Ware. 

Dink flung it off, running up and down the side-lines, 
springing from his toes. 

''Why don't they take him out?" he thought angrily, 
10 with almost a hatred of the fellow who was fighting it out 
in vain. " Can't they see it? Ten yards more, oh. Lord! 
This ends it." 

With a final rush the Andover interference swung at 
Banks, brushing him aside and swept over the remaining 
15 fifteen yards for the touchdown. A minute later the goal 
was kicked and the elevens again changed sides. The 
suddenness with which the score had been tied impressed 
every one — the school team seemed to have no defense 
against the well-massed attacks of the opponents. 
20 "Holes as big as a house," said Fatty Harris. 
"Asleep ! They're all asleep ! " 

Dink, pacing up and down, waited the word from Mr. 
Ware, rebelling because it did not come. 

Again the scrimmage began, a short advance from the 
25 loosely-knit school eleven, a long punt with the wind and 
then a quick, business-like line-up of the blue team and 
another rush at the vulnerable end. 

"Ten yards more; oh, it's giving it away!" said Fatty 
Harris. 
30 Stover knelt and tried his shoe laces and rising, tight- 
ened his belt. 

"I'll be out there in a moment," he said to himself. 

Another gain at Banks' end, and suddenly from the 
elevens across the field the figure of the captain rose and 
35 waved a signal. 



The Football Game 133 

"Go in, Stover," said Mr. Ware. 
He ran out across the long stretch to where the players 
were moving restlessly, their clothes flinging out clouds 
of steam. Back of him something was roaring, cheering 
5 for him, perhaps, hoping against hope. 

Then he was in the midst of the contestants, Garry 
Cockrell's arm about his shoulders, whispering something 
in his ear about keeping cool, breaking up interference if 
he couldn't get his man, following up the play. He went 

10 to his position, noticing the sullen expressions of his team- 
mates, angry with the consciousness that they were not 
doing their best. Then taking his stand beyond Tough 
McCarty, he saw the Andover quarter and the backs 
turn and study him curiously. He noticed the halfback 

15 nearest him, a stocky, close-cropped, red-haired fellow, 
with brawny arms under his rolled-up jersey, whose duty 
it would be to send him rolling on the first rush. 

"All ready?" cried the voice of the umpire. "First 
down." 

20 The whistle blew, the two lines strained opposite each 
other. Stover knew what the play would be — there was 
no question of that. Fortunately the last two rushes had 
carried the play well over to his side — the boundary was 
only fifteen yards away. Dink had thought out quickly 

25 what he would do. He crept in closer than an end usually 
plays and at the snap of the ball rushed straight into the 
starting interference before it could gather dangerous 
momentum. The back, seeing him thus drawn in, in- 
stinctively swerved wide around his interference, forced 

30 slightly back. Before he could turn forward his own 
speed and the necessity of distancing Stover and Condit 
drove him out of bounds for a four-yard loss. 

"Second down, nine yards to go!" came the verdict. 
"Rather risky going in like that," said Flash Condit, 

35 who backed up his side. 



134 Readings in Literature 

"Wanted to force him out of bounds," said Stover. 

''Oh — look out for something between tackle and 
guard now." 

''No — they'll try the other side now to get a clean 
5 sweep at me," said Stover. 

The red-haired halfback disappeared in the opposite 
side and, well protected, kept his feet for five yards. 

"Third down, four to gain." 

"Now for a kick," said Stover, as the Andover end 
10 came out opposite him. "What the deuce am I going to 
do to this coot to mix him up? He looks more as though 
he'd like to tackle me than to get past." He looked over 
and caught a glance from the Andover quarter. "I won- 
der. Why not a fake kick? They've sized me up for 
15 green. I'll play it carefully." 

At the play, instead of blocking, he jumped back and 

to one side, escaping the end, who dove at his knees. 

Then, rushing ahead, he stalled off the half and caught 

the fullback with a tackle that brought him to his feet 

20 rubbing his side. 

" Lawrenceville's ball. Time up for the first half ." 

Dink had not thought of the time. Amazed, he 
scrambled to his feet, half angry at the interruption, and 
following the team went over to the room to be talked 
25 to by the captain and the coach. 

It was a hang-dog crowd that gathered there, quailing 

under the scornful lashing of Garry Cockrell. He spared 

no one, he omitted no names. Dink, listening, lowered 

his eyes, ashamed to look upon the face of the team. One 

30 or two cried out : 

"Oh, I say, Garry!" 

"That's too much!" 

"Too much, too much, is it?" cried their captain, 

walking up and down, striking the flat of his hand with 

35 the clenched fist. " By heavens, it's nothing to what they 



The Football Game 135 

are saying of us out there. They're ashamed of us, one 
and all! Listen to the cheering if you don't believe it! 
They'll cheer a losing team, a team that is being driven 
back foot by foot. There's something glorious in that, 
5 but a team that stands up to be pushed over, a team that 
lies down and quits, a team that hasn't one bit of red 
fighting blood in it, they won't cheer; they're ashamed of 
you! Now, I'll tell you what's going to happen to you. 
You're going to be run down the field for just about four 

10 touchdowns. Here's Lentz being tossed around by a 
fellow that weighs forty pounds less. Why, he's the joke 
of the game. McCarty hasn't stopped a play, not one! 
Waladoo's so easy that they rest up walking through him. 
But that's not the worst, you're playing wide apart as 

15 though there wasn't a man within ten miles of you; not 
one of you is helping out the other. The only time you've 
taken the ball from them is when a little shaver comes in 
and uses his head. Now, you're not going to win this 
game, but by the Almighty you're going out there and 

20 going to hold that Andover team! You've got the wind 
against you; you've got everything against you; you've 
got to fight on your own goal line, not once but twenty 
times. But you've got to hold 'em; you're going to make 
good; you're going to wipe out that disgraceful, cowardly 

25 first half! You're going out there to stand those fellows 
off! You're going to make the school cheer for you again 
as though they believed in you, as though they were 
proud of you! You're going to do a bigger thing than 
beat a weaker team ! You're going to fight off defeat and 

30 show that, if you can't win, you can't be beaten!" 

Mr. Ware, in a professional way, passed from one to 

another with a word of advice : " Play lower, get the jump 

— don't be drawn in by a fake plunge — watch Goodhue." 

But Dink heard nothing; he sat in his corner, clasping 

35 and unclasping his hands, suffering with the moments 



136 Readings in Literature 

that separated him from the fray. Then all at once he 
was back on the field, catching the force of the wind that 
blew the hair about his temples, hearing the half-hearted 
welcome that went up from the school. 
5 ''Hear that cheer!" said Garry Cockrell bitterly. 

From Butcher Stevens' boot the ball went twisting 
and veering down the field. Stover went down, dodging 
instinctively, hardly knowing what he did. Then as he 
started to spring at the runner an interferer from behind 
10 flung himself on him and sent him sprawling, but not 
until one arm had caught and checked his man. 

McCarty had stopped the runner, when Dink sprang 
to his feet, wild with the rage of having missed his 
tackle. 
15 ''Steady!" cried the voice of his captain. 

He lined up hurriedly, seeing red. The interference 
started for him, he flung himself at it blindly and was 
buried under the body of the red-haired half. Powerless 
to move, humiliatingly held under the sturdy body, the 
20 passion of flghting rose in him again. He tried to throw 
him off, doubling up his flst, waiting until his arm was 
free. 

" Why, you're easy, kid," said a mocking voice. " We'll 
come again." 
25 The taunt suddenly chilled him. Without knowing 
how it happened, he laughed. 

"That's the last time you get me, old rooster," he 
said, in a voice that did not belong to him. 

He glanced back. Andover had gained fifteen yards. 
30 "That comes from losing my head," he said quietly. 
"That's over." 

It had come, the cold consciousness of which Cockrell 
had spoken, strange as the second wind that surprises the 
distressed runner. 
35 "I've got to teach that red-haired coot a lesson," he 



The Football Game 137 

said. '^He's a little too confident. I'll shake him up a 
bit." 

The opportunity came on the third play, with another 
attack on his end. He ran forward a few steps and stood 
5 still, leaning a little forward, waiting for the red-haired 
back who came plunging at him. Suddenly Dink dropped 
to his knees, the interferer went violently over his back, 
something struck Stover in the shoulder and his arms 
closed with the fierce thrill of holding his man. 
10 ''Second down, seven yards to gain," came the wel- 
come sound. 

Time was taken out for the red-haired halfback, who 
had had the wind knocked out of him. 

"Now he'll be more respectful," said Dink, and as 
15 soon as he caught his eye he grinned. ''Red hair — I'll 
see if I can't get his temper." 

Thus checked, and to use the advantage of the wind, 
Andover elected to kick. The ball went twisting, and, 
changing its course in the strengthening wind, escaped 
20 the clutches of Macnooder and went bounding toward the 
goal where Charlie De Soto saved it on the twenty-five- 
yard line. In an instant the overwhelming disparity of 
the sides was apparent. 

A return kick at best could gain but twenty-five or 
25 thirty yards. From now on they would be on the de- 
fensive. 

Dink came in to support his traditional enemy. Tough 
McCarty. The quick, nervous voice of Charlie De Soto 
rose in a shriek; "Now, Lawrenceville, get into this, 
30 7-52-3." 

Dink swept around for a smash on the opposite tackle, 

head down, eyes fastened on the back before him, feeling 

the shock of resistance and the yielding response as he 

• thrust forward, pushing, heaving on, until everything 

35 piled up before him. Four yards gained. 



138 Readings in Literature 

A second time they repeated the play, making the 
first down. 

''Time to spring a quick one through us," he thought. 

But again De Soto elected the same play. 
5 ''What's he trying to do?" said Dink. "Why don't 
he vary it?" 

Someone hauled him out of the tangled pile. It was 
Tough McCarty. 

"Say, our tackle's a stiff one," he said, with his mouth 
10 to Stover's ear. "You take his knees; I'll take him above 
this time." 

Their signal came at last. Dink dove, trying to meet 
the shifting knees and throw him off his balance. The 
next moment a powerful arm caught him as he left the 
15 ground and swept him aside. 

"Any gain?" he asked anxiously as he came up. 

"Only a yard," said McCarty. "He got through and 
smeered the play." 

"I know how to get him next time," said Dink. 
20 The play was repeated. This time Stover made a 
feint and then dove successfully after the big arm had 
swept fruitlessly past. Flash Condit, darting through the 
line, was tackled by Goodhue and fell forward for a 
gain. 
25 "How much?" said Stover, rising joyfully. 

"They're measuring." 

The distance was tried and found to be two feet short 
of the necessary five yards. The risk was too great, a 
kick was signaled and the ball was Andover's, just inside 
30 the center of the field. 

"Now, Lawrence ville," cried the captain, "show what 
you're made of." 

The test came quickly, a plunge between McCarty and 

Lentz yielded three yards, a second four. The Andover 

35 attack, with the same precision as before, struck any- 



The Football Game 139 

where between the tackles and found holes. Dink, at the 
bottom of almost every pile, raged at Tough McCarty. 

''He's doing nothing, he isn't fighting," he said an- 
grily. "He doesn't know what it is to fight. Why 
5 doesn't he break up that interference for me?" 

When the attack struck his end now it turned in, slic- 
ing off tackle, the runner well screened by close interfer- 
ence that held him up when Stover tackled, dragging him 
on for precious yards. Three and four yards at a time, 

10 the blue advance rolled its way irresistibly toward the 
red and black goal. They were inside the twenty-yard 
line now. 

Cockrell was pleading with them. Little Charlie De 
Soto was running along the line, slapping their backs, 

15 calling frantically on them to throw the blue back. 

And gradually the line did stiffen, slowly but per- 
ceptibly the advance was cut down. Enmities were for- 
gotten with the shadow of the goal posts looming at their 
backs. Waladoo and Turkey Reiter were fighting side 

20 by side, calling to each other. Tough McCarty was haul- 
ing Stover out of desperate scrimmages, patting him on 
the back and calling him ''good old Dink." The fighting 
blood that Garry Cockrell had called upon was at last 
there — the line had closed and fought together. 

25 And yet they were borne back to their fifteen-yard 
line, two yards at a time, just losing the fourth down. 

Stover at end Was trembling like a blooded terrier, on 
edge for each play, shrieking : 

"Oh, Tough, get through — you must get through!" 

30 He was playing by intuition now, no time to plan. 
He knew just who had the ball and where it was going. 
Out or in, the attack was concentrating on his end — only 
McCarty and he could stop it. He was getting his man, 
but they were dragging him on, fighting now for inches. 

35 ' ' Third down, one yard to gain ! ' ' 



140 Readings in Literature 

"Watch my end," he shouted to Flash Condit, and 
hurling himself forward at the starting backs dove under 
the knees, and grabbing the legs about him went down 
buried under the mass he had upset. 
5 It seemed hours before the crushing bodies were pulled 
off and someone's arm brought him to his feet and some- 
one hugged him, shouting in his ear: 

''You saved it, Dink, you saved it!'' 

Someone rushed up with a sponge and began dabbing 
10 his face. 

''What the deuce are they doing that for?" he said 
angrily. 

Then he noticed that an arm was under his and he 
turned curiously to the face near him. It was Tough 
15 McCarty's. 

"Whose ball is it?" he said. 

"Ours." 

He looked to the other side. Garry Cockrell was sup- 
porting him. 
20 "What's the matter?" he said, trying to draw his 
head away from the sponge that was dripping water down 
his throat. 

"Just a little wind knocked out, youngster — coming 
to?" 
25 "I'm all right." 

He walked a few steps alone and then took his place. 
Things were in a daze on the horizon, but not there in the 
field. Everything else was shut out except his duty 
there. 
30 Charlie De Soto's voice rose shrill: 

"Now, Lawrenceville, up the field with it. This 
team's just begun to play. We've got together, boys. 
Let her rip!" 

No longer scattered, but a unit, all differences forgot, 
35 fighting for the same idea, the team rose up and crashed 



I 



The Football Game 141 

through the Andover Une, every man in the play, ten — 
fifteen yards ahead. 

''Again!" came the strident cry. 

Without a pause the hne sprang into place, formed and 
5 swept forward. It was a privilege to be in such a game, 
to feel the common frenzy, the awakened glance of battle 
that showed down the line. Dink, side by side with 
Tough McCarty, thrilled with the same thrill, plunging 
ahead with the same motion, fighting the same fight; no 
10 longer alone and desperate, but nerved with the con- 
sciousness of a partner whose gameness matched his own. 

For thirty yards they carried the ball down the field, 

before the stronger Andover team, thrown off its feet by 

the unexpected frenzy, could rally and stand them off. 

15 Then an exchange of punts once more drove them back 

to their twenty-five-yard line. 

A second time the Andover advance set out from the 
fifty-yard line and slowly fought its way to surrender the 
ball in the shadow of the goal posts. 
20 Stover played on in a daze, remembering nothing of 
the confused shock of bodies that had gone before, won- 
dering how much longer he could hold out — to last out 
the game as the captain had told him. He was groggy, 
from time to time he felt the sponge's cold touch on his 
25 face or heard the voice of Tough McCarty in his ear. 

"Good old Dink, die game!" 

How he loved McCarty fighting there by his side, 
whispering to him : 

''You and I, Dink! What if he is an old elephant, 
30 we'll put him out of the play." 

Still, flesh and blood could not last forever. The half 
must be nearly up. 

"Two minutes more time." 

"What was that?" he said groggily to Flash Condit. 
35 "Two minutes more. Hold 'em now!" 



142 Readings in Literature 

It was Andover's ball. He glanced around. They 
were down near the twenty-five-yard line somewhere. He 
looked at McCarty, whose frantic head showed against 
the sky. 
5 "Break it up, Tough," he said, and struggled toward 
him. 

A cry went up, the play was halted. 

''He's groggy," he heard voices say, and then came 
the welcome splash of the sponge. 
10 Slowly his vision cleared to the anxious faces around 
him. 

"Can you last?" said the captain. 

"I'm all right," he said gruffly. 

"Things cleared up now?" 
15 "Fine!" 

McCarty put his arm about him and walked with 
him. 

"Oh, Dink, you will last, won't you?" 

"You bet I will. Tough!" 
20 "It's the last stand, old boy!" 

"The last." 

" Only two minutes more w^eVe got to hold 'em! The 
last ditch, Dink." 

"I'll last." 
25 He looked up and saw the school crouching along the 
line — tense, drawn faces. For the first time he realized 
they were there, calling on him to stand steadfast. 

He went back, meeting the rush that came his way, 
half-knocked aside, half-getting his man, dragged again 
30 until assistance came. De Soto's stinging hand slapped 
his back and the sting was good, clearing his brain. 

Things came into clear outline once more. He saw 
down the line and to the end where Garry Cockrell stood. 

"Good old captain," he said. "They'll not get by 
35 me, not now." 



I 



The Football Game 143 

He was in every play it seemed to him, wondering why 

Andover was always keeping the ball, always coming at 

his end. Suddenly he had a shock. Over his shoulder 

were the goal posts, the line he stood on was the line of 

5 his own goal. 

He gave a hoarse cry and went forward like a 
madman, parting the interference. Someone else was 
through; Tough was through; the whole line was 
through flinging back the runner. He went down 
10 clinging to Goodhue, buried under a mass of his own 
tacklers. Then, through the frenzy, he heard the shrill 
call of time. 

He struggled to his feet. The ball lay scarcely four 
yards from the glorious goal posts. Then, before the 
15 school could sweep them up, panting, exhausted, they 
gathered in a circle with incredulous, delirious faces, and 
leaning heavily, wearily on one another gave the cheer 
for Andover. And the touch of Stover's arm on Mc- 
Carty's shoulder was like an embrace. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

We have been given here a very realistic picture of a modern foot- 
ball game. In writing a description of this kind, it is necessary for the 
author to do so from some definite point of view. When the point of 
view is established, the writer must be careful not to violate it, i.e., 
he must be on the lookout to tell only those things which could be 
seen from the standpoint chosen. It is possible for the author to 
change his viewpoint during the course of a description but when he 
does so, the reader must be made aware of that fact at once. In order 
to have a description clear and convincing, the reader must never be 
left in doubt as to the writer's point of view. 

If you have read the rest of "Ivanhoe," as suggested previously, 
you may have noticed another description of this type, namely the 
account given of the storming of the Norman castle. In that passage, 
Rebecca describes the events as she sees them from the castle- window; 
she tells what is taking place to Ivanhoe who lies wounded and help- 
less on a couch near by. 



144 



Readings in Literature 



3. a. 



b. 



4. a. 



Through whose eyes does 

the author make us see 

this game? 
Why is this a good way to 

describe the game? 
Does the writer disregard his 

point of view in any part 

of the account? 
In this description, where 

does the author change 

his point of view? 
What advantage is gained 

by the change? 
Why is Dink Stover in such 

a nervous condition? 



5. a 



b. 



b. How does the author bring 

this out? 

c. Show definitely where those 

places are. 

What is the writer's opinion 
of the value of the game 
of football as a part of a 
boy's training? 

What qualities will the game 
develop according to this 
account? 

Point out specifically where 
the author is really pre- 
senting arguments in favor 
of this game. 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 125, line 2 — "Andover" — a 
town in Massachusetts, near 
Boston; the seat of Phillips' 
Academy, one of the best known 
preparatory schools in the coun- 
try. 



Page 130, line 2 — "Lawrenceville" 
— a town in New Jersey, near 
Princeton; the seat of the Law- 
renceville Academy, another of 
the important preparatory 
schools of this country. 



Suggestions for Home Reading 



Johnson's "The Prodigious 
Hickey" — a collection of short 
stories of the Ufe at Lawrence- 
ville, by the author of the pre- 
ceding selection. 



Hughes' "Tom Brown's School- 
days," a story of English school 
life. 

Kipling's "Stalky and Co.," a 
story of school hfe. 



WEE WILLIE WINKIE 

("An officer and a gentleman") 

BY RUDYARD KIPLING 

RuDYARD Kipling is one of the great figures in the literary 
world of to-day. He was born in India in 1865 and was educated 
in England. He began his literary career as a journalist in India. 
He is a novelist, a short story writer, and a poet. 



Wee Willie Winkie 145 

Wee Willie Winkie was published in 1888 in a volume of short 
stories. As in many other of his tales, Kiphng has used the army- 
life in India as a setting for his narrative. This selection is well 
worth study because of the masterly way in which it has been 
constructed. 

His full name was Percival William Williams, but he 
picked up the other name in a nursery book, and that 
was the end of the christened titles. His mother's ayah 
called him Willie-^a5a, but as he never paid the faintest 
5 attention to anything that the ayah said, her wisdom did 
not help matters. 

His father was the Colonel of the 195th, and as soon 
as Wee Willie Winkie was old enough to understand what 
Military Discipline meant, Colonel Williams put him 

10 under it. There was no other way of managing the child. 
When he was good for a week, he drew good-conduct pay; 
and when he was bad, he was deprived of his good-conduct 
stripe. Generally he was bad, for India offers so many 
chances to little six-year-olds of going wrong. 

15 Children resent familiarity from strangers, and Wee 
Willie Winkie was a very particular child. Once he ac- 
cepted an acquaintance, he was graciously pleased to thaw. 
He accepted Brandis, a subaltern of the 195th, on sight. 
Brandis was having tea at the Colonel's, and Wee Willie 

20 Winkie entered strong in the possession of a good-conduct 
badge won for not chasing the hens round the compound. 
He regarded Brandis with gravity for at least ten minutes, 
and then delivered himself of his opinion. 

''I like you," said he slowly, getting off his chair and 

25 coming over to Brandis. ''I like you. I shall call you 
Coppy, because of your hair. Do you mind being called 
Coppy? It is because of ve hair, you know." 

Here was one of the most embarrassing of Wee Willie 
Winkie's peculiarities. He would look at a stranger for 

30 some time, and then, without warning or explanation, 



146 Readings in Literature 

would give him a name. And the name stuck. No regi- 
mental penalties could break Wee Willie Winkie of this 
habit. He lost his good-conduct badge for christening 
the Commissioner's wife ''Fobs"; but nothing that the 
5 Colonel could do made the Station forego the nickname, 
and Mrs. Collen remained Mrs. ''Fobs" till the end of her 
stay. So Brandis was christened ^^Coppy," and rose, 
therefore, in the estimation of the regiment. 

If Wee Willie Winkie took an interest in any one, the 

10 fortunate man was envied alike by the mess and the rank 
and file. And in their envy lay no suspicion of self- 
interest. ''The Colonel's son" was idolized on his own 
merits entirely. Yet Wee Willie Winkie was not lovely. 
His face was permanently freckled, as his legs were per- 

15 manently scratched, and in spite of his mother's almost 
tearful remonstrances he had insisted upon having his 
long, yellow locks cut short in the military fashion. ''I 
want my hair like Sergeant Tummil's," said Wee Willie 
Winkie, and his father abetting, the sacrifice was ac- 

20 complished. 

Three weeks after the bestowal of his youthful affec- 
tions on Lieutenant Brandis — henceforth to be called 
''Coppy" for the sake of brevity — Wee Willie Winkie 
was destined to behold strange things and far beyond his 

25 comprehension. 

Coppy returned his liking with interest. Coppy had 
let him wear for five rapturous minutes his own big sword 
— ^just as tall as Wee Willie Winkie. Coppy had prom- 
ised him a terrier puppy; and Coppy had permitted him 

30 to witness the miraculous operation of shaving. Nay, 
more — Coppy had said that even he. Wee Willie Winkie, 
would rise in time to the ownership of a box of shiny 
knives, a silver soap-box and a silver-handled ''sputter- 
brush," as Wee Willie Winkie called it. Decidedly, there 

35 was no one except his father, who could give or take away 



Wee Willie Winkie 147 

good-conduct badges at pleasure, half so wise, strong, and 
valiant as Coppy with the Afghan and Egyptian medals 
on his breast. Why, then, should Coppy be guilty of the 
unmanly weakness of kissing — vehemently kissing — a 
5 ^^big girl," Miss Allardyce to wit? In the course of a 
morning ride, Wee Willie Winkie had seen Coppy so 
doing, and, like the gentleman he was, had promptly 
wheeled round and cantered back to his groom, lest the 
groom should also see. 
10 Under ordinary circumstances he would have spoken 
to his father, but he felt instinctively that this was a 
matter on which Coppy ought first to be consulted. 

''Coppy," shouted Wee Willie Winkie, reining up 
outside that subaltern's bungalow early one morning — "I 
15 want to see you, Coppy!" 

''Come in, young 'un," returned Coppy, who was at 
early breakfast in the midst of his dogs. "What mis- 
chief have you been getting into now?" 

Wee Willie Winkie had done nothing notoriously bad 
20 for three days, and so stood on a pinnacle of virtue. 

"I've been doing nothing bad," said he, curling him- 
self into a long chair with a studious affectation of the 
Colonel's languor after a hot parade. He buried his 
freckled nose in a teacup and, with eyes staring roundly 
25 over the rim, asked: — "I say, Coppy, is it pwoper to kiss 
big girls?" 

"By Jove! You're beginning early. Who do you 
want to kiss?" 

"No one. My muvver's always kissing me if I don't 
30 stop her. If it isn't pwoper, how was you kissing Major 
AUardyce's big girl last morning, by ve canal?" 

Coppy's brow wrinkled. He and Miss Allardyce had 

with great craft managed to keep their engagement secret 

for a fortnight. There were urgent and imperative rea- 

35 sons why Major Allardyce should not know how matters 



148 Readings in Literature 

stood for at least another month, and this small marplot 
had discovered a great deal too much. 

"I saw you," said Wee Willie Winkie calmly. ^'But 
ve groom didn't see. I said, 'Hut jaoJ " 
5 "Oh, you had that much sense, you young Rip," 
groaned poor Coppy, half amused and half angry. ''And 
how many people may you have told about it?" 

''Only me myself. You didn't tell when I twied to 
wide ve buffalo ven my pony was lame ; and I fought you 
10 wouldn't like." 

"Winkie," said Coppy enthusiastically, shaking the 
small hand, "you're the best of good fellows. Look here, 
you can't understand all these things. One of these days 
— hang it, how can I make you see it! — I'm going to 
15 marry Miss Allardyce, and then she'll be Mrs. Coppy, as 
you say. If your young mind is so scandalized at the 
idea of kissing big girls, go and tell your father." 

"What will happen?" said Wee Willie Winkie, who 
firmly believed that his father was omnipotent. 
20 "I shall get into trouble," said Coppy, playing his 
trump card vAih. an appealing look at the holder of the 
ace. 

"Ven I won't," said Wee WiUie Winkie briefly. "But 
my faver says it's un-man-ly to be always kissing, and I 
25 didn't fink you'd do vat, Coppy." 

"I'm not always kissing, old chap. It's only now 
and then, and when you're bigger you'll do it too. Your 
father meant it's not good for little boys." 

"Ah!" said Wee Willie Winkie, now fully enlightened. 
30 "It's like ve sputter-brush?" 

"Exactty," said Coppy gravely. 

"But I don't fink I'll ever want to kiss big girls, nor 
no one, 'cept my muwer. And I must vat, you know." 

There was a long pause, broken by Wee Willie Winkie. 
35 "Are you fond of vis big girl, Coppy?" 



I 



I 



Wee Willie Winkie 149 

"Awfully!" said Coppy. 

''Fonder van you are of Bell or ve Butcha — or me?" 
''It's in a different way," said Coppy. "You see, one 
of these days Miss Allardyce will belong to me, but you'll 
5 grow up and command the Regiment and — all sorts of 
things. It's quite different, you see." 

"Very well," said Wee WiUie Winkie, rising. "If 
you're fond of ve big girl, I won't tell any one. I must 
go now." 

10 Coppy rose and escorted his small guest to the door, 
adding: — "You're the best of little fellows, Winkie. I 
tell you what. In thirty days from now you can tell if 
you like — tell any one you like.'^ 

Thus the secret of the Brandis-Allardyce engagement 

15 was dependent on a little child's word. Coppy, who 
knew Wee Willie Winkie's idea of truth, was at ease, for 
he felt that he would not break promises. Wee Willie 
Winkie betrayed a special and unusual interest in Miss 
Allardyce, and, slowly revolving round that embarrassed 

20 young lady, was used to regard her gravely with unwink- 
ing eye. He was trying to discover why Coppy should 
have kissed her. She was not half so nice as his own 
mother. On the other hand, she was Coppy's property, 
and would in time belong to him. Therefore it behooved 

25 him to treat her with as much respect as Coppy's big 
sword or shiny pistol. 

The idea that he shared a great secret in common with 
Coppy kept Wee Willie Winkie unusually virtuous for 
three weeks. Then the Old Adam broke out, and he 

30 made what he called a "camp fire" at the bottom of the 
garden. How could he have foreseen that the flying 
sparks would have lighted the Colonel's little hayrick and 
consumed a week's store for the horses? Sudden and 
swift was the punishment — deprivation of the good-con- 

35 duct badge and, most sorrowful of all, two days confine- 



150 Readings in Literature 

ment to barracks — the house and veranda — coupled with 
the withdrawal of the light of his father's countenance. 

He took the sentence like the man he strove to be, 

drew himself up with a quivering under-lip, saluted, and, 

5 once clear of the room, ran to weep bitterly in his nursery 

— called by him ''my quarters." Coppy came in the 

afternoon and attempted to console the culprit. 

''I'm under awwest," said Wee Willie Winkie mourn- 
fully, "and I didn't ought to speak to you." 

10 Very early the next morning he climbed on to the roof 
of the house — that was not forbidden — and beheld Miss 
Allardyce going for a ride. 

"Where are you going?" cried Wee Willie Winkie. 
"Across the river," she answered, and trotted forward. 

15 Now the cantonment in which the 195th lay was 
bounded on the north by a river — dry in the winter. 
From his earliest years, Wee Willie Winkie had been for- 
bidden to go across the river, and had noted that even 
Coppy — the almost almighty Coppy — had never set foot 

20 beyond it. Wee Willie Winkie had once been read to, out 
of a big blue book, the history of the Princess and the Gob- 
lins — a most wonderful tale of a land where the Goblins 
were always warring with the children of men until they 
were defeated by one Curdie. Ever since that date it 

25 seemed to him that the bare black and purple hills across 
the river were inhabited by Goblins, and, in truth, every 
one had said that there lived the Bad Men. Even in his 
own house the lower halves of the windows were covered 
with green paper on account of the Bad Men who might, 

30 if allowed clear view, fire into peaceful drawing-rooms and 
comfortable bedrooms. Certainly, beyond the river, 
which was the end of all the Earth, lived the Bad Men. 
And here was Major Allardyce's big girl, Coppy's prop- 
erty, preparing to venture into their borders ! What would 

35 Coppy say if anything happened to her? If the Goblins 






Wee Willie Winkie 151 

ran off with her as they did with Curdie's Princess? She 
must at all hazards be turned back. 

The house was still. Wee Willie Winkie reflected for 
a moment on the very terrible wrath of his father; and 
5 then — broke his arrest ! It was a crime unspeakable. The 
low sun threw his shadow, very large and very black, on 
the trim garden paths, as he went down to the stables and 
ordered his pony. It seemed to him in the hush of the 
dawn that all the big world had been bidden to stand still 

10 and look at Wee Willie Winkie guilty of mutiny. The 
drowsy groom handed him his mount, and, since the one 
great sin made all others insignificant. Wee Willie Winkie 
said that he was going to ride over to Coppy Sahib, and 
went out at a footpace, stepping on the soft mould of the 

15 flower borders. 

The devastating tract of the pony's feet was the last 
misdeed that cut him off from all sympathy of Humanity. 
He turned into the road, leaned forward, and rode as fast 
as the pony could put foot to the ground in the direction 

20 of the river. 

But the liveliest of twelve-two ponies can do little 
against the long canter of a Waler. Miss Allardyce was 
far ahead, had passed through the crops, beyond the Police 
post, where all the guards were asleep, and her mount 

25 was scattering the pebbles of the river bed as Wee Willie 
Winkie left the cantonment and British India behind him. 
Bowed forward and still flogging, Wee Willie Winkie shot 
into Afghan territory, and could just see Miss Allardyce 
a black speck, flickering across the stony plain. The 

30 reason of her wandering was simple enough. Coppy, in 

a tone of too-hastily-assumed authority, had told her over 

night that she must not ride out by the river. And she 

had gone to prove her own spirit and teach Coppy a lesson. 

Almost at the foot of the inhospitable hills, Wee Willie 

35 Winkie saw the Waler blunder and come down heavily. 



152 Readings in Literature 

Miss Allardyce struggled clear, but her ankle had been 
severely twisted, and she could not stand. Having thus 
demonstrated her spirit, she wept copiously, and was sur- 
prised by the apparition of a white, wide-eyed child in 
5 khaki, on a nearly spent pony. 

''Are you badly, badly hurted?" shouted Wee Willie 
Winkie, as soon as he was within range. "You didn't 
ought to be here." 

''I don't know," said Miss Allardyce ruefully, ignoring 
10 the reproof. ''Good gracious, child, what are you doing 
here?" 

"You said you was going acwoss ve wiver," panted 
Wee Willie Winkie, throwing himself off his pony. "And 
nobody — not even Coppy — must go acwoss ve wiver, and I 
15 came after you ever so hard, but you wouldn't stop, and 
now you've hurted yourself, and Coppy will be angwy wiv 
me, and — I've bwoken my awwest! I've bwoken my 
awwest!" 

The future Colonel of the 195th sat down and sobbed. 
20 In spite of the pain in her ankle the girl was moved. 

"Have you ridden all the way from cantonments, 
little man? What for?" 

"You belonged to Coppy. Coppy told me so!" 
wailed Wee Willie Winkie disconsolately. "I saw him 
25 kissing you, and he said he was fonder of you van Bell 
or ve Butcha or me. And so I came. You must get up 
and come back. You didn't ought to be here. Vis is a 
bad place, and I've bwoken my awwest." 

"I can't move, Winkie," said Miss Allardyce, with a 
30 groan. "I've hurt my foot. What shall I do?" 

She showed a readiness to weep afresh, which steadied 

Wee Willie Winkie, who had been brought up to believe 

that tears were the depth of unmanliness. Still, when 

one is as great a sinner as Wee Willie Winkie, even a man 

35 may be permitted to break down. 



Wee Willie Winkie 153 

''Winkle/' said Miss Allardyce, ''when you've rested 
a little, ride back and tell them to send out something to 
carry me back in. It hurts fearfully." 

The child sat still for a little time and Miss Allardyce 
5 closed her eyes; the pain was nearly making her faint. 
She was roused by Wee Willie Winkie tying up the reins 
on his pony's neck and setting it free with a vicious cut of 
his whip that made it whicker. The little animal headed 
toward the cantonments. 
10 " Oh, Winkie ! What are you doing? " 

"Hush!" said Wee Willie Winkie. "Vere's a man 

coming — one of ve Bad Men. I must stay wiv you. My 

faver says a man must always look after a girl. Jack will 

go home, and ven vey'll come and look for us. Vat's 

15 why I let him go." 

Not one man but two or three had appeared from 
behind the rocks of the hills, and the heart of Wee Willie 
Winkie sank within him, for just in this manner were the 
Goblins wont to steal out and vex Curdie's soul. Thus 
20 had they played in Curdie's garden, he had seen the pic- 
ture, and thus had they frightened the Princess's nurse. 
He heard them talking to each other, and recognized with 
joy the bastard Pushto that he had picked up from one 
of his father's grooms lately dismissed. People who 
25 spoke that tongue could not be the Bad Men. They 
were only natives after all. 

They came up to the bowlders on which Miss Allar- 
dyce's horse had blundered. 

Then rose from the rock Wee Willie Winkie, child of 
30 the Dominant Race, aged six and three quarters, and said 
briefly and emphatically, ^'Joa! " The pony had crossed 
the river bed. 

The men laughed, and laughter from natives was the 

one thing Wee Willie Winkie could not tolerate. He 

35 asked them what they wanted and why they did not 



154 Readings in Literature 

depart. Other men with most evil faces and crooked- 
stocked guns crept out of the shadows of the hills, till 
soon Wee Willie Winkie was face to face with an audience 
some twenty strong. Miss AUardj^ce screamed. 
5 "Who are you?" said one of the men. 

''I am the Colonel Sahib's son, and my order is that 

you go at once. You black men are frightening the Miss 

Sahib. One of you must run into cantonments and take 

the news that the Miss Sahib has hurt herself, and that 

10 the Colonel's son is here with her." 

''Put our feet into the trap?" was the laughing reply. 
"Hear this boy's speech!" 

''Say that I sent you — I, the Colonel's son. They 
will give you money." 
15 " What is the use of this talk? Take up the child and 
the girl, and we can at least ask for the ransom. Ours- 
are the villages on the heights," said a voice in the back- 
ground. 

These were the Bad Men — worse than Goblins — and 
20 it needed all Wee Willie Winkle's training to prevent him 
from bursting into tears. But he felt that to cry before 
a native, excepting only his mother's ayah, would be an in- 
famy greater than any mutiny. Moreover, he, as future 
Colonel of the 195th, had that grim regiment at his back. 
25 "Are you going to carry us away?" said Wee Willie 
Winkie, very blanched and uncomfortable. 

"Yes, my little Sahib Bahadur,'' said the tallest of the 
men, "and eat you afterwards." 

" That is child's talk," said Wee Willie Winkie. " Men 
30 do not eat men." 

A yell of laughter interrupted him, but he went on 

firmly, — "And if you do carry us away, I tell you that 

all my regiment will come up in a day and kill you all 

without leaving one. Who will take my message to the 

35 Colonel Sahib?" 



Wee Willie Winkie 155 

Speech in any vernacular — and Wee Willie Winkie 
had a colloquial acquaintance with three — was easy to 
the boy who could not yet manage his *'r's" and 'Hh's" 
aright. 
5 Another man j oined the conference, crying : — ' ' O foolish 
men! What this babe says is true. He is the heart's 
heart of those white troops. For the sake of peace let 
them both go, for if he be taken, the regiment will break 
loose and gut the valley. Our villages are in the valley, 

10 and we shall not escape. That regiment are devils. 
They broke Khoda Yar's breastbone with kicks when he 
tried to take the rifles; and if we touch this child they will 
fire and rape and plunder for a month, till nothing re- 
mains. Better to send a man back to take the message 

15 and get a reward. I say that this child is their God, and 
that they will spare none of us, nor our women, if we 
harm him." 

It was Din Mahommed, the dismissed groom of the 
Colonel, who made the diversion, and an angry and heated 

20 discussion followed. Wee Willie Winkie, standing over 
Miss Allardyce, waited the upshot. Surely his *'wegi- 
ment," his own "wegiment," would not desert him if they 
knew of his extremity. 



The riderless pony brought the news to the 195th, 
25 though there had been consternation in the Colonel's 
household for an hour before. The little beast came in 
through the parade-ground in front of the main barracks 
where the men were settling down to play Spoil-five till 
the afternoon. Devlin, the Color Sergeant of E Com- 
30 pany, glanced at the empty saddle and tumbled through 
the barrack-rooms, kicking up each Room Corporal as he 
passed. ''Up, ye beggars! There's something happened 
to the Colonel's son," he shouted. 



156 Readings in Literature 

'^He couldn't fall off! S'elp me, 'e couldn't fall off," 
blubbered a drummer boy. ''Go an' hunt acrost the 
river. He's over there if he's am-^here, an' maybe 
those Pathans have got 'im. For the love o' Gawd 
5 don't look for 'im in the nullahs! Let's go over the 
river." 

'' There's sense in :\Iott yet," said Devlin. ''E Com- 
pany, double out to the river — sharp!" 

So E Company, in its shirt sleeves mainly, doubled for 
10 the dear life, and in the rear toiled the perspiring Ser- 
geant, adjuring it to double j'et faster. The cantonment 
was alive with the men of the 195th hunting for Wee Willie 
Winkle, and the Colonel finally overtook E Companj^ far 
too exhausted to swear, struggling in the pebbles of the 
15 river bed. 

Up the hill under which Wee Willie Winkle's Bad Men 
were discussing the -^Hsdom of carrying off the child and 
the girl, a lookout fired two shots. 

''What have I said?" shouted Din Mahommed. 
20 "There is the warning! The pulton are out alread}^ and 
are coming across the plain! Get away! Let us not be 
seen with the bo}'!'^ 

The men waited for an instant, and then, as another 
shot was fired, withdrew into the hills, silently as they had 
25 appeared. 

''The wegiment is coming," said Wee Willie Winkie 
confidently to ^liss Allardyce, "and it's all T^-ight. Don't 
cwy!" 

He needed the ad^dce himself, for ten minutes later, 
30 when his father came up, he was weeping bitterl}^ with 
his head in Miss Allardyce' s lap. 

And the men of the 195th carried him home with 
shouts and rejoicings; and Coppy, who had ridden a horse 
into a lather, met him, and, to his intense disgust, kissed 
35 him openly in the presence of the men. 



Wee Willie Winkie 157 

But there was balm for his dignity. His father 
assured him that not only would the breaking of arrest be 
condoned, but that the good-conduct badge would be re- 
stored as soon as his mother could sew it on his blouse 
5 sleeve. Miss Allardyce had told the Colonel a story that 
made him proud of his son. 

''She belonged to you, Coppy," said Wee WiUie 
Winkie, indicating Miss Allardyce with a grimy fore- 
finger. ''I knew she didn't ought to go acwoss ve wiver, 
10 and I knew ve wegiment would come to me if I sent 
Jack home." 

''You're a hero, Winkie/' said Coppy — "a pukka 
hero!" 

"I don't know what vat means," said Wee Willie 
15 Winkie, "but you mustn't call me Winkie any no more. 
I'm Percival Will'am Will'ams." 

And in this manner did Wee Willie Winkie enter into 
his manhood. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

The title of a story is frequently a very important factor in the 
success or failure of the piece. There are certain rules or prin- 
ciples governing this phase of the work. They may be summarized 
briefly as follows: first, a title must not be misleading, i.e., it must 
give us some idea of what the story is going to be about; second, 
it must be interesting, i.e., it must be phrased in such a manner that 
it will be apt to attract readers; third, it must be short. Brevity 
is apt to add to the vividness of the impression made. 

structed. A study of its 
structure will help to make 



Using the above standards, 

comment on the title of 

this story. 
Point out how the theme is 

suggested by the title and 

subtitle. 
What is the theme of this 

story? 
This story is splendidly con- 



you realize that great care 
is required in the arrange- 
ment of the material in or- 
der to gain a desired effect. 
In analyzing the story, we 
might make an outline as 
follows: 



158 



Readings in Literature 



PART I. 
"Wee Willie Winkie" 

Paragraphs 

1 His name. 

2 His bringing up (Mili- 

tary discipline). 
3, 4, 5 Childish traits. Begin- 
ning of "Winkle's" 
regard for "Coppy." 

6 The soldiers' love for 

"Winkle." Winkle's 
appearance. 

7 A connecting para- 

graph. 

PART II. 
"Winkie" and "Coppy" 

8 Mutual affection of 

Winkle and Coppy. 

Miss A and the 

incident of the kiss- 
ing. Dialogue be- 
tween Winkie and 
Coppy. 
9 to 36 Concerning what 
Winkie had seen. 
Winkie entrusted 
with the secret of 
Coppy's engagement 

to Miss A . 

36, 37, 38 Connecting p a r a - 
graphs {Burning of 
the hayrick and 
Winkle's pun- 
ishment.) 

PART III. 
"Winkie" and Miss A 

39, 40, 41 Winkie learns that 

Miss A is going 

across the river. 



Paragraphs 

42 Winkle's knowledge of 
the dangerous local- 
ity. 
43, 44 Winkie breaks his ar- 
rest and follows her. 

45 The ride. 

46 The accident. 

47 to 56 Dialogue-Why Wink- 
ie followed. Plans to 
get help. 
56, 57, 58 Winkie sets his pony 
free. Reason for 
doing so. 

59 to 73 The "Bad Men." The 
child's bravery. The 
danger. 
74,75 The "Bad Men" in 
doubt. Din Mo- 
hammed. 

PART IV. 

The Resctji: 

76 to 79 The arrival of Winkle's 
pony at the bar- 
racks. The effect. 

80 to 89 The finding of Winkie 

and Miss A . 

89, 90 The child's name. 

2. In reading this story a second 

time, see if you can find any 
incidents that have no bear- 
ing on the theme. 

3. Note the beginning and the end 

of the story (1st and last 
paragraph) . Keeping those in 
mind, comment on the pic- 
ture which Kipling is holding 
up for us to view. 

4. Study the portions of the story 

told in dialogue. 



Wee Willie Winkie 



159 



Note how the author makes his 
characters act as well as talk. 



What effect is gained by doing 
that? 



Sug-gestions for Home Reading 



Thomas Nelson Page's "Nancy 
Pansy" — a story of the Civil 
War, in which a little girl of 
eight plays the important part. 

Dickens' "David Copperfield." — 



In the early chapters (David's 
departure for school and his 
school Hfe), you are shown a 
wonderfully pathetic picture of 
a lovable little boy. 



160 Readings in Literature 



INTRODUCTION TO THE POETICAL SELECTIONS 

The poems that follow have been selected in order to bring out 
in a definite way some of the characteristics of lyric poetry. 

The first five, SheUey's "To a Skylark/' Keats' ''Ode to a 
Nightingale," Burns' "To a Daisy," Wordsworth's "The Daffo- 
dils" and Herrick's "To Daffodils," have been classed together 
because they are poems that are expressive of thoughts and feel- 
ings that are pure and beautiful, inspired by things of Nature. 
One of the essentials of poetry is that the thought expressed must 
be elevating and ennobling. It is natural that a poet's individuality 
will be shown in his writings. Therefore, it is necessary for you to 
seek for evidences of the personality of the author in your inter- 
pretation of his work. 

The two short lyrics of Tennyson have been given in order to 
bring to your notice poems wherein the theme is very personal in 
character. Here again, however, the thought is reverential and 
inspiring. 

Scott's two poems have been chosen in order to bring out 
another characteristic of poetry — namely, the rhythm. Before you 
study these poems it will be necessary for you to find out something 
about rhythm and meter. You will then be in a position to appre- 
ciate the different effects that can be gained by the use of different 
meters. 

The two poems of Browning have been selected in order to 
show you that poems of this type may tell a story. It is to be 
noted, however, that the story presents a moral or truth that is 
inspiring. 

Six sonnets have been printed so that you may learn something 
of this important literary form. 

Two patriotic lyrics have been given in order to remind you that 
a love of country always has been and always will be a fitting theme 
for the poet's song. 

To summarize briefly, then, it is the purpose of this book to show 
you by these selections that by poetry we mean the expression of 
beautiful thoughts in language that is rhythmic in arrangement, 
melodious in soimd and figurative and artistic in construction. 



To a Skylark 161 

TO A SKYLARK 

BY PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY 

Percy Bysshe Shelley, who was born in England in 1792 and 
died in 1822, was a man who rebelled at all restraint. In matters 
of domestic hfe, of rehgion, of government, he was imbued with a 
passionate desire for freedom. He was expelled from Oxford be- 
cause of a pamphlet he wrote against rehgion. Like most of the 
writers of this time, Shelley was deeply influenced by the struggle 
of the French people for hberty. In some of his longer poems he 
sets forth his ideals in regard to matters of government. In his 
view of life, ideal happiness can result only from absolute freedom. 

It seems natural, then, that Shelley should be inspired by the 
song of a lark — a bird that sings joyously as it mounts high into the 
bright morning air. Everything about this bird is typical of unre- 
strained happiness. 

Here are the thoughts that have been aroused in this poet by 
the song of a skylark. 

Hail to thee, blithe Spirit! 

Bird thou never wert, 
That from heaven, or near it 

Pourest thy full heart 
5 In profuse strains of unpremeditated art. 

Higher still and higher 

From the earth thou springest, 
Like a cloud of j5re, 

The blue deep thou wingest, 
10 And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest. 

In the golden lightning 

Of the sunken sun 
O'er which clouds are brightening, 
Thou dost float and run, 
15 Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun. 



162 Readings in Literature 

The pale purple even 

Melts around thy flight; 
Like a star of heaven 
In the broad daylight 
20 Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight: 

Keen as are the arrows 

Of that silver sphere, 
Whose intense lamp narrows 

In the white dawn clear 
25 Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there. 

All the earth and air 

With thy voice is loud, 
As, when night is bare. 
From one lonely cloud 
30 The moon rains out her beams, and heaven is overflowed. 

What thou art we know not; 

What is most like thee? 
From rainbow clouds there flow not 
Drops so bright to see 
35 As from thy presence showers a rain of melody; — 

Like a poet hidden 

In the light of thought. 
Singing hymns unbidden. 

Till the world is wrought 
40 To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not: 

Like a high-born maiden 

In a palace tower, 
Soothing her love-laden 

Soul in secret hour 
45 With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower: 



I 



To a Skylark 163 

Like a glow-worm golden 

In a dell of dew, 
Scattering unbeholden 
Its aerial hue 
50 Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the 
view: 

Like a rose embower^ 

In its own green leaves, 
By warm winds deflower'd. 
Till the scent it gives 
55 Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-winged 
thieves. 

Sound of vernal showers 

On the twinkling grass, 
Rain-awakened flowers. 

All that ever was 
60 Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass. 

Teach us, sprite or bird. 

What sweet thoughts are thine: 
I have never heard 

Praise of love or wine 
65 That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine. 

Chorus hymeneal 

Or triumphal chaunt 
Match'd with thine, would be all 

But an empty vaunt — 
70 A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want. 

What objects are the fountains 

Of thy happy strain? 
What fields, or waves, or mountains? 

What shapes of sky or plain? 
75 What love of thine own kind? What ignorance of pain? 



164 Readings in Literature 

With thy clear keen joyance 

Languor cannot be: 
Shadow of annoyance 

Never came near thee: 
80 Thou lovest; but ne'er knew love's sad satiety. 

Waking or asleep 

Thou of death must deem 
Things more true and deep 

Than we mortals dream, 
85 Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream? 

We look before and after, 

And pine for what is not: 
Our sincerest laughter 

With some pain is fraught; 
90 Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. 

Yet if we could scorn 

Hate, and pride, and fear; 
If we were things born 

Not to shed a tear, 
95 I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. 

Better than all measures 

Of delightful sound. 
Better than all treasures 
That in books are found, 
100 Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! 

Teach me half the gladness 

That thy brain must know, 
Such harmonious madness 

From my lips would flow, 
105 The world would listen then, as I am listening now! 



Ode to a Nightingale 



165 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. Note carefully the construc- 

tion of this poem. 
Stanzas 1 to 7, are in eulogy 
of the bird. 

a. What things about the lark 

does Shelley praise? 

b. Should the lines be read 

slowly or rapidly? Why? 

c. Explain "unpremeditated 

art." 

2. In stanzas 7 to 15, the poet 

attempts to find a suitable 
comparison for the joy and 
freedom of this bird. 
Explain those similes, in 
your own words. 

3. In stanzas 15 to 21, the poet 

speculates on the possible 



cause of the joy of the lark 
and contrasts the lot of 
the bird with that of 
human beings. 

Explain — "We look before 
and after ." 

What does the poet mean 
by the line, "Our sweetest 
songs are those that tell 
of saddest thought?" 

What does that Hne imply? 

Tell, in your own words, the 
subject matter of stanza 
21. 

Why is this stanza a fit- 
ting summary of the 
thoughts expressed in the 
poem? 



ODE TO A NIGHTINGALE 



BY JOHN KEATS 



John Keats was born in England in 1795 and died in 1821. He 
lived at the same time as Shelley but was one of the few writers of 
that period who was unaffected by the events that were taking 
place about him. He was handicapped by a lack of university 
training and by ill health. He was a victim of lung trouble which 
caused his death at the age of twenty-six. The fact that he knew 
that he was doomed, colored his whole view of life and took away, 
no doubt, much of his interest in the material happenings that were 
taking place. 

The poem that follows gives us the thoughts that were inspired 
in this poet by the song of a nightingale. Try to imagine him on 
a summer's evening in a leafy grove listening to the sad beautiful 
notes of this bird. Note how his own sufferings are hinted at in the 



166 Readings in Literature 

longing he expresses to be free from the "weariness, the fever and 
the fret" of existence here. 



My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains 

My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk, 
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains 
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk: 
5 'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot. 
But being too happy in thy happiness, — 
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees, 
In some melodious plot 
Of beechen green, and shadows numberless, 
10 Singest of summer in full-throated ease. 

0, for a draught of vintage! that hath been 

Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth, 
Tasting of Flora and the country green. 

Dance, and Provencal song, and sunburnt mirth! 
15 O for a beaker full of the warm South, 

Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene, 
With beaded bubbles winking at the brim. 
And purple-stained mouth; 
That I might drink, and leave the world unseen, 
20 And with thee fade away into the forest dim: 

Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget 

What thou among the leaves hast never known. 
The weariness, the fever, and the fret 

Here, where men sit and hear each other groan; 
25 Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs. 

Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies; 
Where but to think is to be full of sorrow 
And leaden-eyed despairs; 
Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes, 
30 Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow. 



Ode to a Nightingale 167 

Away! away! for I will fly to thee, 

Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards, 
But on the viewless wings of Poesy, 

Though the dull brain perplexes and retards: 
35 Already with thee! tender is the night. 

And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne, 
Clustered around by all her starry Fays; 
But here there is no light. 
Save what from heaven is with breezes blown 
40 Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways. 



I cannot see what flowers are at my feet. 

Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs, 
But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet 
Wherewith the seasonable month endows 
45 The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild; 
White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine; 
Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves; 
And mid-May's eldest child. 
The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine, 
50 The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves. 



Darkling I listen; and for many a time 

I have been half in love with easeful Death, 
Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, 
To take into the air my quiet breath; 
55 Now more than ever seems it rich to die. 

To cease upon the midnight with no pain, 
While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad 
In such an ecstasy! 
Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain — 
60 To thy high requiem become a sod. 



168 



Readings in Literature 



Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird! 

No hungry generations tread thee down; 
The voice I hear this passing night was heard 
In ancient days by emperor and clown: 
65 Perhaps the self -same song that found a path 

Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home, 
She stood in tears amid the alien corn; 
The same that oft-times hath 
Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam 
70 Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn. 

Forlorn! the very word is like a bell 

To toll me back from thee to my sole self! 
Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well 
As she is famed to do, deceiving elf. 
75 Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades 

Past the near meadows, over the still stream, 
Up the hillside; and now 'tis buried deep 
In the next valley-glades: 
Was it a vision, or a waking dream? 
80 Fled is that music: — Do I wake or sleep? 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



a. Compare the first stanza of 

this poem with the open- 
ing stanza of Shelley's 
Ode. 

b. Note the different effects 

gained in each case. 

c. What mechanical differ- 

ences in construction ac- 
count in part, at least, 
for the differences in tone? 
a. Tell, in your own words, 
the desire Keats ex- 
presses in the second and 
third stanzas. 



b. How do you account for 
the feelings expressed in 
those stanzas? 

a. What things of Nature are 

spoken of in the fourth 
and fifth stanzas? 

b. How does he speak of 

them? 

In stanza six, note the 
same desire that we 
spoke of previously. 

According to the poet's 
speculation in stanza 
seven, who else probably 



To a Mountain Daisy 



169 



6. a. 



listened to this same 

song, long ages ago? 
How is the poet brought 

out of his reverie? 
Note the last word of 

stanza 7, and the first 

word of stanza 8. 



What does he compare that 
word with? 
c. What contrast is again 
brought out in the last 
stanza? 

Of whom is the poet think- 
ing in lines 61 and 62 ? 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 166, line 4— "Lethe-wards"— 
In Greek mythology, Lethe was 
one of the streams of Hades, the 
water of which possessed the 
property of making those who 
drank of it forget their former 
existence. 

Page 166, line 7— "Dryad"— In 
classic mythology, a wood 
nymph. 

Page 166, line 13— " Flora "—In 
Roman mythology, the goddess 
of flowers and spring. 



Page 166, Hne 16— "Hippocrene" 
— a fountain on Mount Helicon, 
sacred to the Muses. 

Page 167, line 32— " Bacchus "—In 
Greekmythology,thegodofwine. 

Page 167, hne 60 — "requiem" — a 
Mass said or sung for a departed 
soul. 

Page 168, hne 66— " Ruth"— a Bib- 
lical character, left her home 
and traveled to Bethlehem to 
make her new home with Boaz 
and his people. 



TO A MOUNTAIN DAISY 

(On turning one down with a plough in April, 1786) 



BY ROBERT BURNS 

Robert Burns, who was born in Scotland in 1759 and died in 
1796, was the oldest child of a poor Scotch farmer. He received a 
very meager education. The greater part of his life was given up to 
a struggle against poverty. In spite of his cheerless surroundings 
and his discouraging fight against starvation, the poetic nature that 
was in the man found expression in poems and ballads that will live 
forever. 

The following poem tells us his thoughts on destroying a wild 
mountain flower in the course of his ploughing. 



170 Readings in Literature 

Wee, modest, crimson-tipped flow'r, 
Thou's met me in an evil hour; 
For I maun crush amang the stoure 

Thy slender stem. 
5 To spare thee now is past my pow^r, 

Thou bonnie gem. 

Alas! it's no thy neebor sweet, 
The bonnie lark, companion meet, 
Bending thee 'mang the dewy weet! 
10 Wi' spreckl'd breast, 

When upward-springing, blythe to greet 
The purpling east. 

Cauld blew the bitter-biting north 
Upon thy early, humble birth; 
15 Yet cheerfully thou glinted forth 

Amid the storm. 
Scarce rear'd above the parent-earth 

Thy tender form. 

The flaunting flow'rs our gardens yield, 
20 High shelt'ring woods and wa's maun shield; 

But thou, beneath the random bield 

O' clod or stane. 
Adorns the histie stibble-field, 

Unseen, alane. 

25 There, in thy scanty mantle clad, 

Thy snawie bosom sun-ward spread, 
Thou lifts thy unassuming head 

In humble guise; 
But now the share uptears thy bed, 

30 And low thou Hes! 



To a Mountain Daisy 



171 



Such is the fate of simple Bard, 

On life's rough ocean luckless starred! 

Unskilful he to note the card 

Of prudent lore, 
35 Till billows rage, and gales blow hard, 

And whelm him o'er! 

Such fate to suffering Worth is giv'n, 
Who long with wants and woes has striv'n, 
By human pride or cunning driv'n, 
40 To mis'ry's brink, 

Till, wrench'd of ev'ry stay but Heav'n, 
He, ruin'd, sink! 

Ev'n thou who mourn'st the Daisy's fate, 
That fate is thine — no distant date; 
45 Stern Ruin's ploughshare drives elate. 

Full on thy bloom. 
Till crush'd beneath the furrow's weight, 

Shall be thy doom! 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. Repeat, in your own words, the 

thoughts expressed in each of 
the first five stanzas. 

2. What is the general topic of 

that part of the poem? 

3. What facts about the flower, 

does the poet tell us indirect- 
ly, in these stanzas? 

4. What comparison does he make 

in stanza four? 

5. Pick out expressions in this 



poem, that, in your opinion, 
indicate the poet's love for 
Nature as represented by the 
daisy. 

6. Explain the figure of speech in 

stanza five. 

7. In stanzas six and seven, what 

comparison does Burns make? 

8. Note the sad tone in the last 

stanza. In it to whom does 
he refer? 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 170, line 3 — "stoure" means 

"dust." 
Page 170, line 20— "wa's maun" 

means "walls must." 



Page 170, line 21— "bield" means 

"shelter." 
Page 170, Hne23— "histie" means 

"dry," "barren." 



172 Readings in Literature 

THE DAFFODILS 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

William Wordsworth, who was born in England in 1770 and 
died in 1850, had all the advantages of education and travel. He 
lived a long life that was comparatively free from care and worry. 
Wordsworth spent many years in the country and grew to love the 
works of nature, the fields and streams, the birds and flowers. 
Many of his poems show this love and reverence for the works of 
God. 

In reading the following poem, try to picture this man, on a day 
in early spring while the trees are still bare and many of the signs 
of winter still linger, walking through a lonely countryside and 
coming suddenly on a field of bright beautiful flowers. Here are 
the thoughts inspired by such a sight: 

I wander'd lonely as a cloud 
That floats on high o'er vales and hills, 
When all at once I saw a crowd, 
A host of golden daffodils, 
5 Beside the lake, beneath the trees, 

Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. 

Continuous as the stars that shine 
And twinkle on the milky way. 
They stretch'd in never-ending line 
10 Along the margin of a bay: 

Ten thousand saw I at a glance 
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. 

The waves beside them danced, but they 
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: — 
15 A Poet could not bujb be gay 

In such a jocund company! 
I gazed — and gazed — but little thought 
What wealth the show to me had brought; 



To Daffodils 



173 



For oft, when on my couch I lie 
20 In vacant or in pensive mood 

They flash upon that inward eye 
Which is the bhss of sohtude; 
And then my heart with pleasure fills, 
And dances with the daffodils. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. Describe, in your own words, 

the picture painted by the 
poet in the first three stan- 
zas. 

2. a. Point out the figures of 

speech in stanza one. 

b. Explain them. 

c. Why are they suitable? 

3. Do the same thing with 

stanza two, in regard to 
the figures of speech. 



4. What effect is produced by 

the reading of the first 
three stanzas? 

5. What "wealth " was brought 

to the poet by the picture 
he has described? 

6. What is the substance of the 

last stanza? 

7. In your opinion, why should 

the remembrance of the 
sight bring him happiness? 



TO DAFFODILS 



BY ROBERT HERRICK 



Robert Herrick was born in England in 1591 and died in 1674. 
He began his university training at Cambridge as a student of law 
but later gave up that study for theology. In 1629, he accepted 
the living at Dean Prior where the greater part of his life was spent. 
His work in the field of literature was casual and confined entirely 
to lyric poetry. His poetry is characterized by a refinement of 
thought and gracefulness of meter that makes it very pleasing. 

Fair Daffodils, we weep to see 

You haste away so soon: 
As yet the early-rising Sun 

Has not attain' d his noon. 



174 Readings in Literature 

5 Stay, stay, 

Until the hasting day 
Has run 
But to the even-song; 
And, having pray'd together, we 
10 Will go with you along. 

We have short time to stay, as you 

We have as short a Spring; 
As quick a growth to meet decay 
As you or any thing. 
15 We die. 

As your hours do, and dry 
Away 
Like to the Summer's rain; 
Or as the pearls of morning's dew 
20 Ne'er to be found again. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. In lines 1 and 2, why does the 

poet express regret? 

2. What is the implied meaning 

in the lines from 3 through 
10? 

3. Explain the figure of speech in 

lines 9 and 10. 



4. Tell, in your own words, the 

substance of stanza 2. 

5. Explain the similes in lines 16 

through 20. 

6. In what way are the figures of 

speech used throughout the 
poem suitable? 



BREAK, BREAK, BREAK 



BY ALFRED TENNYSON 



Alfred Tennyson was born in England in 1809 and died in 
1892. For over fifty years he was the leading figure in the English 
literary world. He succeeded Wordsworth as Poet Laureate. His 
writings are many in number and varied in character. They are 
all, however, characterized by grace of meter and beauty of expres- 
sion. Tennyson was deeply religious and the spiritual phase of 



Break, Break, Break 175 

his nature is shown in many of his poems. Two of his short lyrics 
are given here. 

The first one, "Break, Break, Break," expresses the poet's feel- 
ings in meditating on the death of a friend. The loss of a loved 
one has tm-ned his thoughts to the wonder and the mystery of life 
and death. In reading this poem, think of the author as standing 
alone, looking off at the ocean; children are playing on the shore; 
away off on the distant horizon he sees ships moving slowly along; 
and all the time he is conscious of the beating of the waves on the 
shore. 

Break, break, break, 

On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! 
And I would that my tongue could utter 
The thoughts that arise in me. 

5 well for the fisherman's boy, 

That he shouts with his sister at play! 
O well for the sailor lad. 

That he sings in his boat on the bay! 

And the stately ships go on 
10 To their haven under the hill; 

But for the touch of a vanish'd hand 
And the sound of a voice that is still! 

Break, break, break. 

At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! 
15 But the tender grace of a day that is dead 

Will never come back to me. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. What was the poet's mood in 

writing this poem? 

2. Why does he speak of the chil- 

dren, in the second stanza? 

3. What thoughts about his own 

life do they suggest? 

4. Why should he think of that at 

such a time or in connection 



with the other thoughts that 
were present in his mind? 

5. What is the implied meaning in 

his mention of "the stately 
ships"? 

6. What is "the haven under the 

hill"? 

7. Tell, in your own words, the 



176 



Readings in Literature 



meaning of the next two 
lines. 
8. Notice that Tennyson begins 
the first and the last stanzas, 
with the same words; he is 
conscious, all through his 
reverie, of the unceasing, re- 



lentless pounding of the 
waves on the rocks. What 
do you think he means to 
refer to in our lives, that 
might be suggested by the 
breaking of the waves on the 
shore? 



CROSSING THE BAR 

BY ALFRED TENNYSON 

Sunset and evening star, 

And one clear call for me! 
And may there be no moaning of the bar, 

When I put out to sea, 

5 But such a tide as moving seems asleep. 
Too full for sound and foam, 
When that which drew from out the boundless deep 
Turns again home. 

Twilight and evening bell, 
10 And after that the dark! 

And may there be no sadness of farewell. 
When I embark; 



15 



For tho' from out our bourne of Time and Place 

The flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face 

When I have cross'd the bar. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. "Sunset and evening star" 

— what does the poet tell us 
about himseK by this line? 

2. Explain the second Hne. 



3. What is the voyage he is 

going to make? 

4. Explain the implied mean- 

ing of the second stanza. 



Boat Song 



177 



5. 



6. 



7. a. 



"Twilight and evening 
bell" — how does the 
thought here differ from 
the thought expressed in 
the first line? 

"And after that the dark" 
— what is the implied 
meaning of this line? 

Who is the "Pilot"? 



9. 



b. What is the name of that 

figure of speech? 
Show how this figure of 

speech is in keeping with 

other figures used in this 

poem. 
What phase of Tennyson's 

nature does this poem 

show? 



10 



15 



20 



BOAT SONG 
(From " The Lady of the Lake ") 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! 

Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! 
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances, 
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! 
Heaven send it happy dew. 
Earth lend it sap anew, 
Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow, 
While every Highland glen 
Sends our shout back again, 
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain, 

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade; 
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the 

mountain. 
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 

Moored in the rifted rock. 

Proof to the tempest's shock. 
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow; 

Menteith and Breadalbane, then, 

Echo his praise again, 
"Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!'* 



178 



Readings in Literature 



Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin, 
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied; 
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, 
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. 
25 Widow and Saxon maid 

Long shall lament our raid, 
Think of Clan- Alpine with fear and with woe: 
Lennox and Leven-glen 
Shake when they hear again, 
30 ''Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! 

Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine! 
O that the rosebud that graces yon islands 
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! 
35 O that some seedling gem, 

Worthy such noble stem, 
Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! 
Loud should Clan-Alpine then 
Ring from her deepmost glen, 
40 ''Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!" 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. a. What is meant by rhythm 

in poetry? 

b. What is meant by meter? 

c. Explain some of the differ- 

ent arrangements that are 
possible. 

2. a. Take the first line of this 

poem, and point out where 
the accented syllables 
come. 
b. Read the line, placing strong 
emphasis on each accented 
syllable in the Une. Does 
this mechanical arrange- 
ment bring about a slow 



or rapid movement in 
reading the Hne? 

c. Do the same thing with each 

of the following three Unes. 

d. Note the 5th and 6th lines. 

What effect is gained by 
inserting these short lines? 

3. Note the preponderance of 

short vowel sounds in the 
words of this poem. What 
is the effect of such a 
usage? 

4. Explain how the mechanical 

aspect of the work is con- 
sistent with the theme. 



Coronach 179 

Explanatory Notes 



Page 177, line 7 — ''bourgeon" — 
from the French, meaning, "to 
sprout," "to put forth buds." 

Page 177, line 12— "Beltane"— the 
first day of May. An ancient 
Celtic festival used to be ob- 



served in Scotland on that 
day. 
The places referred to in the poem 
are all located in and about the 
district of Perthshire, in Scot- 
land. 



CORONACH 

(From " The Lady of the Lake ") 

BY SIR WALTER SCOTT 

He is gone on the mountain, 

He is lost to the forest, 
Like a summer-dried fountain, 

When our need was the sorest. 
5 The font, re-appearing. 

From the rain-drops shall borrow, 
But to us comes no cheering, 

To Duncan no morrow! 

The hand of the reaper 
10 Takes the ears that are hoary, 

But the voice of the weeper 

Wails manhood in glory. 
The autumn winds rushing 

Waft the leaves that are searest, 
15 But our flower was in flushing. 

When blighting was nearest. 

Fleet foot on the correi, 

Sage counsel in cumber, 
Red hand in the foray, 
20 How sound is thy slumber! 



180 



Readings in Literature 



Like the dew on the mountain, 
Like the foam on the river, 

Like the bubble on the fountain. 
Thou art gone, and forever! 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. a. In the first line of this 
poem, point out where 
the accented syllables 
come. 

b. How does this arrange- 

ment differ from the 
one used in the "Boat 
Song"? 

c. What difference in the use 



2. 



of long and short vowel 

sounds, do you notice? 
Compare the general tone of 

this poem with that of the 

preceding one. 
What is the theme of this 

poem? 
Explain the figures of speech 

used in the second stanza. 



Explanatory Notes 



"Coronach" — a Gaelic word, mean- 
ing, "a funeral song," "a dirge," 
poured forth by the mourners 
over the body of the deceased. 



Page 179, line 17— "correi''— a 

covert on a hillside. 
Page 179, Hne 18— "cumber"— 

trouble. 



HOW THEY BROUGHT THE GOOD NEWS FROM 
GHENT TO AIX 

BY ROBERT BROWNING 

Robert Browning, who was born in England in 1812 and died 
in 1889, was a celebrated English poet. He was second only to 
Tennyson in the literary world of the latter half of the nineteenth 
century. His poetry is characterized by vigor and power of thought 
and expression but unfortunately much of it is very difficult to 
understand. 

I SPRANG to the stirrup, and Joris, and he; 

I gallop'd, Dirck gallop'd, we gallop'd all three; 



■B 



How They Brought the Good News 181 

"Good speed!" cried the watch, as the gate-bolts un- 
drew; 
"Speed!" echoed the wall to us galloping through; 
5 Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, 
And into the midnight we gallop'd abreast. 

Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace 
Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; 
I turn'd in my saddle and made its girths tight, 
10 Then shorten'd each stirrup, and set the pique right, 
Rebuckled the cheek-strap, chain'd slacker the bit, 
Nor gallop'd less steadily Roland a whit. 

^Twas moonset at starting; but while we drew near 
Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawn'd clear; 
15 At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; 
At Duffield, 'twas morning as plain as could be; 
And from Mechelm church-steeple we heard the half 

chime. 
So Joris broke silence with, "Yet there is time!" 

At Aershot, up leap'd of a sudden the sun, 
20 And against him the cattle stood black every one, 
To stare through the mist at us galloping past. 
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, 
With resolute shoulders, each butting away 
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray: 

25 And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back 
For my voice, and the other prick'd out on his track; 
And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance 
O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance! 
And the thick heavy spume-flakes which aye and anon 

30 His fierce lips shook upwards in galloping on. 



182 Readings in Literature 

By Hasselt, Dirck groan'd; and cried Joris, ''Stay spur! 
Your Roos gallop'd bravely, the fault's not in her, 
We'll remember at Aix" — for one heard the quick wheeze 
Of her chest, saw the stretch'd neck and staggering knees, 
35 And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank. 
As down on her haunches she shudder'd and sank. 

So we were left galloping, Joris and I, 
Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; 
The broad sun above laugh' d a pitiless laugh, 
40 'Neath our feet broke the brittle bright stubble like chaff; 
Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white. 
And "Gallop," gasped Joris, ''for Aix is in sight! 

"How they'll greet us!" — and all in a moment his roan 
Roll'd neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; 
45 And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight 
Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, 
With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, 
And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. 

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, 
50 Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, 
Stood up in the stirrup, lean'd, patted his ear, 
Call'd my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; 
Clapp'd my hands, laugh'd and sang, any noise, bad or 

good. 
Till at length into Aix Roland gallop'd and stood. 

55 And all I remember is, friends flocking round 

As I sat with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; 
And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, 
As I pour'd down his throat our last measure of wine, 
Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) 

60 Was no more than his due who brought good news from 
Ghent. 






An Incident of the French Camp 



183 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. a. In your own words, repeat 
the story told in this poem. 

b. What was the "good news"? 

c. What quahties of horse and 

rider are brought out in 
the course of the poem? 

d. Which is the more important 

figure, the horse or the 
rider? 



a. Note the rhythm. 

b. What is the effect gained? 

c. How must the lines be 

read? 

Where are the places men- 
tioned in the poem? 

Pick out the stanzas which 
emphasize the good quali- 
ties of the horse. 



AN INCIDENT OF THE FRENCH CAMP 



BY ROBEKT BROWNING 

You know, we French storm'd Ratisbon: 

A mile or so away 
On a little mound, Napoleon 

Stood on our storming-day; 
5 With neck out-thrust, you fancy how, 

Legs wide, arms lock'd behind. 
As if to balance the prone brow 

Oppressive with its mind. 

Just as perhaps he mus'd ''My plans 
10 That soar, to earth may fall. 

Let once my army-leader Lannes 

Waver at yonder wall," — 
Out 'twixt the battery-smokes there flew 
A rider, bound on bound 
15 Full-galloping; nor bridle drew 

Until he reached the mound. 

Then off there flung in smiling joy, 

And held himself erect 
By just his horse's mane, a boy: 
20 You hardly could suspect — 



184 



Readings in Literature 



(So tight he kept his hps compress'd, 

Scarce any blood came through) 
You look'd twice ere you saw his breast 

Was all but shot in two. 

25 ''Well," cried he, "Emperor, by God's grace 
We've got you Ratisbon! 
The Marshal's in the market-place, 

And you'll be there anon 
To see your flag-bird flap his vans 
30 Where I, to heart's desire, 

Perch'd him!" The chief's eye flash'd; his plans 
Soar'd up again like fire. 

The chief's eye flash'd; but presently 
Soften'd itself, as sheathes 
35 A film the mother-eagle's eye 

When her bruis'd eaglet breathes. 
''You're wounded!" ''Nay," the soldier's pride 

Touch'd to the quick, he said: 
"I'm kill'd. Sire!" And his chief beside, 
40 Smiling the boy fell dead. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. What is the "incident" re- 

ferred to in the title of 
this poem? 

2. Describe, in your own words, 

the picture of Napoleon, 
given in the opening lines 
of the poem. 

3. a. In stanza 2, note the abrupt 

manner in which Napo- 
leon's thoughts are broken 
ofif. 
b. What effect has this, on the 
description of the ride that 



is given in the next four 
Hues? 

4. a. Why was the rider smiling 

with joy? 
b. In Unes 17, 18 and 19, how 
does the poet emphasize 
the fact that the rider was 
only a boy? 

5. a. In hnes 31 and 32, note how 

much is told you in a few 
words, concerning the ef- 
fect of the good tidings, 
on the leader. 



The Sonnets 



185 



b. Note the repetition in line 

33; what, probably, are 
Napoleon's thoughts? 

c. What other side of Napoleon's 

character are we shown in 
the lines that follow? 



6. Note the sharp contrast be- 
tween the two characters 
of the poem, the leader 
and the boy. 
What is the real theme of the 
story? 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 183, line 1— "Ratisbon"— a 
town in Bavaria on the Dan- 
ube river. It suffered severely 
during the five days' fighting 
between Napoleon and the 



Archduke Charles of Austria, in 
1809. 
Page 183, fine 11— ''Lannes"— 
born 1769, died 1809; he was 
a celebrated French marshal. 



THE SONNETS 



BY WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE, JOHN MILTON, WILLIAM 
WORDSWORTH, AND LORD BYRON 

The sonnet, a literary form copied from the Italian, was intro- 
duced in England about the middle of the sixteenth century by Sir 
Thomas Wyatt and the Earl of Surrey. It became popular im- 
mediately and ever since has been used at times by nearly all the 
great poets. 

The sonnet is a poem of fourteen lines and has for its theme 
some topic that may be completely treated of in that space. 

There are two forms. In the first, the fourteen lines are divided 
into three stanzas of four lines each with alternate lines rhyming 
and a final rhyming couplet. This is the form of sonnet adopted by 
Shakespeare and used throughout his sonnet sequence. In the 
second, the poem is divided into two parts, consisting of eight and 
six lines respectively. The first eight lines are closely bound to- 
gether by the rhyme scheme which is uniform and may be indi- 
cated in the following way: "abbaabba." In regard to the 
final six lines there is no uniform rhyme scheme. In both forms 
of the sonnet, the lines consist of ten syllables, the accented one 
following the unaccented one. 



186 Readings in Literature 

SONNET 

BY SHAKESPEARE 

O, HOW much more doth beauty beauteous seem, 
By that sweet ornament which truth doth give! 
The rose looks fair, but fairer we it deem 
For that sweet odour which doth in it live. 
5 The canker-blooms have full as deep a dye 
As the perfumed tincture of the roses, 
Hang on such thorns, and play as wantonly 
When summer's breath their masked buds discloses: 
But, for their virtue only is their show, 
10 They live unwoo'd, and unrespected fade; 
Die to themselves. Sweet roses do not so; 
Of their sweet deaths are sweetest odours made: 
And so of you, beauteous and lovely youth. 
When that shall fade, by verse distils your truth. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. What is the thought ex- 

pressed in the first two 
lines? 

2. Explain the comparison 

made in the third and 
fourth lines. 

3. a. How do the canker-blooms 

differ from the roses? 



b. What happens to them? 

c. What becomes of the roses 

when they die? 

4. Explain the last two liaes. 

5. Note how melodious the 

verses are. 

6. a. Point out the rhyme scheme, 
b. What meter is used? 



SONNET 
(On His Blindness) 

BY JOHN MILTON 



When I consider how my light is spent 
Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide. 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 



m 



England and Switzerland, 1802 187 

5 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest he returning chide; 
"Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?" 
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 
That murmur, soon replies, ''God doth not need 
10 Either man's work or his own gifts; who best 

Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best: his state 
Is kingly; thousands at his bidding speed. 
And post o'er land and ocean without rest; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. a. Look up the facts about 

Milton's life. 

b. How was his blindness 

brought on? 

c. What great religious and 

political movement was 
he closely connected with? 

2. Point out the differences in 

form between this sonnet 



and the sonnet of Shake- 
speare which precedes this. 

3. Compare the two sonnets as 

to the subject matter. 

4. a. Express, in your own words, 

the question that Milton 
asks himself, 
b. What is his answer to the 
question? 



ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND, 1802 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

Two Voices are there; one is of the Sea, 
One of the Mountains; each a mighty voice: 
In both from age to age thou didst rejoice. 
They were thy chosen music, Liberty! 

5 There came a tyrant, and with holy glee 
Thou fought'st against him, — but hast vainly striven: 
Thou from thy Alpine holds at length art driven, 
Where not a torrent murmurs heard by thee. 



188 



Readings in Literature 



— Of one deep bliss thine ear hath been bereft; 
10 Then cleave, O cleave to that which still is left- 
For, high-soul'd Maid, what sorrow would it be 
That Mountain floods should thunder as before, 
And Ocean bellow from his rocky shore. 
And neither awful Voice be heard by Thee! 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

Wordsworth was one of the English writers who had for a time, at 
least, been greatly influenced by the French Revolution. Although his 
attitude toward that movement changed somewhat, he was always a 
warm advocate for freedom in matters of government. He would 
naturally, then, become a bitter opponent of the French Empire es- 
tablished by Napoleon. 



1. a. "Two Voices" — explain this, 
b. Which one of them is of 

the Sea? Which, of the 
Mountains? 

2. The tyrant referred to in 

line 5, is Napoleon. 

3. In the first eight lines what 

are we told concerning one 
of these voices? 



6. 



Explain the last six^ines. 

a. Line 11, "high-soul'd Maid" 

— who is meant? 

b. What figure of speech is 

this? 
Which form of sonnet has 
Wordsworth adopted, the 
Shakespearean or the Mil- 
tonic? 



"THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US" 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

The World is too much with us; late and soon, 
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers; 
Little we see in Nature that is ours; 
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! 



This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon. 
The winds that will be howling at all hours 
And are up-gather'd now like sleeping flowers, 
For this, for everything, we are out of tune; 



Composed Upon Westminster Bridge 



189 



It moves us not. — Great God! I'd rather be 
10 A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn, — 
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, 

Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; 
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea; 
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



From what you have read 
of Wordsworth, what 
phase of his nature does 
this poem show? 

In the first eight lines, he 
finds fault with people for 
what? 



a. Note the unusual beauty of 

some of the lines. 

b. Explain the figurative lan- 

guage in lines 5, 6 and 7. 
What is his conclusion about 
the matter; he sets it forth 
in the last six lines. 



Explanatory Notes 



Page 189, line 13— Proteus— In 
classic mythology, a sea-god 
who had the power of assuming 
different shapes. 

Page 189, line 14— Triton— 



In Greek mythology, the son of 
Poseidon. He dwelt in a golden 
palace on the bottom of the 
ocean. He is usually repre- 
sented with a horn. 



COMPOSED UPON WESTMINSTER BRIDGE 

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 

Earth has not anything to show more fair: 
Dull would he be of soul who could pass by 
A sight so touching in its majesty: , 
This City now doth like a garment wear 



The beauty of the morning: silent, bare, 
Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie 
Open unto the fields, and to the sky, — 
All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. 



190 Readings in Literature 

Never did sun more beautifully steep 
10 In his first splendor valley, rock, or hill; 

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep! 

The river glideth at his own sweet will: 
Dear God! the very houses seem asleep; 
And all that mighty heart is lying still! 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. a. What is the theme of this 

sonnet? 
b. Why is the theme suitable 
for poetry? 

2. a. What time of day is it? 

b. Explain the intense calm and 
quiet and yet the bright- 
ness of the morning. 



3. Note especially the beauty 

of the last three lines. 

4. Explain the line — "the river 

glideth at his own sweet 
wiU." 

5. What figure of speech in the 

last line? 



ON THE CASTLE OF CHILLON 

BY LORD BYRON 

Eternal Spirit of the chainless Mind! 
Brightest in dungeons, Liberty! thou art, 
For there thy habitation is the heart — 
The heart which love of Thee alone can bind; 

5 And when thy sons to fetters are consign'd, 

To fetters, and the damp vault's dayless gloom, 
Their country conquers with their martyrdom. 
And Freedom's fame finds wings on every wind. 

Chillon! thy prison is a holy place 
10 And thy sad floor an altar, for 'twas trod, 

Until his very steps have left a trace 



Patriotic Hymns 191 

Worn as if thy cold pavement were a sod, 
By Bonnivard! May none those marks efface! 
For they appeal from tyranny to God. 



NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 

Lord Byron was born in 1788 and died in 1824. He was another 
of the writers of the early part of the 19th century who had been pro- 
foundly affected by the French Revolution. He became an ardent up- 
holder of the rights of the people. His ideas on Liberty led him to aid 
the ItaUans in their struggle for freedom and later, he took a prominent 
part in the Greek war for independence, against the Turks. 

This sonnet expresses very strongly, his fervent love of Liberty. It 
was inspired by a visit to the Castle of Chillon — a famous fortress at the 
Eastern end of Lake Geneva. Bonnivard, the heroic defender of Swiss 
liberty against the^^Duke of Savoy, had been kept a prisoner in a dun- 
geon of the castle for six years (1530-1536). Byron used the same 
theme for one of his long poems, ''The Prisoner of Chillon." 



1. What is the "Eternal Spirit of 

the chainless mind"? 

2. Why is Liberty brightest in 

dungeons? 

3. Explain the lines, 5 through 8. 



4. Explain the figure of speech in 

Hne 10. 

5. Note the strength of the closing 

lines. 



PATRIOTIC HYMNS 

CONCORD HYMN 

(Sung at the completion of the Battle Monument, April 19, 1836) 

BY RALPH WALDO EMERSON 



By the rude bridge that arched the flood, 
Their flag to April's breeze unfurled, 

Here once the embattled farmers stood, 
And fired the shot heard round the world. 



192 Readings in Literature 

5 The foe long since in silence slept; 
Alike the conqueror silent sleeps; 
And Time the ruined bridge has swept 

Down the dark stream which seaward creeps. 

On this green bank, by this soft stream, 
10 We set to-day a votive stone; 

That memory may their deed redeem, 
When, like our sires, our sons are gone. 

Spirit that made those heroes dare 
To die, and leave their children free, 
15 Bid Time and Nature gently spare 

The shaft we raise to them and thee. 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. What historical event does 

this poem commemo- 
rate? 

2. What was the occasion of its 

pubhcation? 

3. Explain "embattled farm- 

ers." 



4. Explain line 4. 

5. Point out the lines that 

seem to you to be espe- 
cially beautiful. 

6. a. What is the prayer of the 

poet in the last stanza? 
b. To whom is it made? 



RECESSIONAL 

BY RUDYARD KIPLING 

God of our fathers, known of old — 
Lord of our far-flung battle line — 

Beneath Whose awful Hand we hold 
Dominion over palm and pine — 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget! 



■■H 



Recessional 193 

The tumult and the shouting dies — 

The captains and the kings depart; 
Still stands Thine ancient sacrifice, 
10 An humble and a contrite heart. 

Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

Far called our navies melt away — 

On dune and headland sinks the fire — 
15 Lo, all our pomp of yesterday 

Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! 

Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, 

Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

If, drunk with sight of power, we loose 
20 Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe — 

Such boasting as the Gentiles use. 

Or lesser breeds without the law — 
Lord God of Hosts, be with us yet, 
Lest we forget — lest we forget! 

25 For heathen heart that puts her trust 
In reeking tube and iron shard — 
All valiant dust that builds on dust, 

And guarding calls not Thee to guard — 
For frantic boast and foolish word, 
30 Thy mercy on Thy people. Lord! 

Amen! 

NOTES AND SUGGESTIONS 



1. Express, in your own"words, 

the theme of this poem. 

2. Explain line 4. 

3. Explain the figures of speech 

in Hnes 7 and 8. 

4. What are the thoughts ex- 

pressed in stanza 4? 



5. a. Point out lines or passages 

that seem to you to have 
unusual beauty. 
b. Give your reasons for think- 
ing so. 

6. What is the significance of 

the title of this poem? 



^3^S 



